A day in the life of the overwhumped Rodney Mckay
by AnCa
Summary: Because he's much more fun than Sheppard. : Let's see what trouble our favourite scientist manages to get himself into, even without the flu! Complete!
1. 0430 Getting up

Disclaimer- I own nothing! Though if you want to give me Atlantis for Christmas I promise to behave all next year ;)

Summary- A day in the life of the much whumped, and very under appreciated Dr McKay. Will include other cast members too though ;)

Set after Aurora but before Lost Boys because I haven't seen it yet!

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The first thing Rodney McKay noticed upon waking was how hot the room was.

He'd always been sensitive to changes in temperature. Atlantis maintained a steady room temperature of about 21 Celsius. A couple of months ago when power was diverted and the thermostat went off by 0.2 degrees, he was the first to notice; and to fix the problem of course.

So understandably he was more than a little annoyed that someone had let the situation get this bad without fetching him. Didn't they _know_ about heat strokes? Grunting irritably, he pushed back his covers and stumbled out of bed.

Only to sit right back down again as the world swayed, and the temperature plummeted to artic conditions.

"No no no no no!" he croaked to himself, "Not today. I did NOT pick today to get Atlantis's version of the flu. Dammit." The room blurred in front of him and he rubbed his eyes.

He simply didn't have time to be ill. He had way to much to do, and as always; not enough time to do it all in. He had to test out a new way of powering the shields with Zelenka, baby-sit a test of the new weapon Mitchinson had come up with, meet with Kavanagh to discuss yet another one of his 'ideas', which was of course a waste of time. Not to mention go on a mission to PX4 873 with the rest of SGA-1. He couldn't _afford_ to be sick. He reached for his PADD and feverishly opened his schedule for today, worked out by one of the assistant scientists, Meca, Mica, Meeko or something.

0500-05-30: Science Team Briefing.

0530-0600: Monthly check of 02 filters.

0600-0630: Kavanagh- power conservation ideas (Mess hall)

0700-0800: Zelenka (Lab 012) for shield test

0800-0830: SGA-1 Briefing

0830-1100: Work on Wraith Weapon (Lab 04)

1100-1200: Teyla (Gym 03) Self Defence

1200-1230: Lunch

1230-1330: Novak (Daedalus Engineering), problems with targeting sensors

1330-1400: Infirmary for permission check-up

1400-See next day: Mission with SGA-1

"See!" He exclaimed. "Nowhere here does it say 'be stricken with nasty and probably lethal alien virus." He coughed harshly, grimacing, "Now that is just perfect. Anything else I need to worry about? Rashes, seizures, turning into a giant bug? Because that would really make my day." A coughing fit interrupted him and he slumped miserably. Now he'd have to radio Carson and probably spend a week as the butt of all Major Sheppard's less than amusing jokes. He reached for his headset,

And hesitated.

Sure he felt lousy. Feverish, dizzy, nauseous, you name it, but it wasn't _that_ bad. Getting the measles at twenty five had been worse, so had that stomach flu in Russia. He'd worked through both, and though he'd regretted it later, he had _worked_. Why shouldn't he go on the mission later? It wasn't like there was any native population he could infect, and he'd just have to keep his distance from the rest of his team.

Well, Teyla anyway.

Besides, he was tired of his reputation as Atlantis's resident hypochondriac. He had allergies okay? If any of them could die from a few sips of lemon juice they'd be careful too! And it was hardly his fault he knew, in detail, the effects of radiation exposure. It was just the cost of being a genius.

Shivering, he forced himself to get up and stumbled over to his wardrobe. On the floor was his own personalised med kit, constructed before he even left Earth and topped up with any prescriptions he got from Carson. He retrieved the bottle of Tylenol and frowned at the contents. Only two tablets left. If he was going to fool everyone long enough to go on this mission he'd have to get some more. Well, he'd worry about that later.

Rodney swallowed the medication dry, only to remember they worked best with water. He dressed hurriedly and fetched a glass; sipping the contents gingerly. Throwing up would not be a good way to start. He sat down again, resting his throbbing head in his arms and breathed deeply. He was fine, he was not going to be kicked off the mission because he was not ill. Not ill.

"Doctor?" The suddenly too loud voice sounded from the handset on his cabinet. He picked it up, and repressing the urge to cough answered, "McKay here."

"The science team are ready to begin the briefing Doctor. Will you be long?"

Dammit! He checked his clock, 0455, that was late by his standards. "No, I'll be there in a minute. Just…going over the notes for today's power test."

"Understood. See you soon Doctor McKay." The radio clicked off.

"Right." He muttered to himself. "You said a minute, so I'd better get going." He stood carefully. "Right….only fifty feet to the transporter, then twenty to the lab. About thirty steps. You can manage thirty steps…whoa!" He leaned on the wall. "Okay…small steps…" He began again, the world swaying drunkenly around him. It was going to be a long day.

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I thought Sheppardneeded a break ;) Besides Rodney is so much fun to whump because he isn't a hero. Reviews make me write faster and cost you only a minute ;) 


	2. 0500 Science Staff Briefing

Step one in operation 'Not Sick'; attend weekly science team briefing without fai-passing out.

Rodney got to the transporter successfully, resting his head against the cool wall. This really wasn't working. He had to be patient, Tylenol generally took about twenty minutes to kick in, so he should start feeling better in about ten. He just had to fake it for a little longer.

The transporter doors slid open with a whoosh that seemed unreasonably loud to the ailing scientist. You'd think with all their high and mighty technological expertise they could have at least come up with a silent door. Suppressing the urge to sink down in a corner and cry, he staggered onwards.

He managed to get to the briefing room, and even to sit down without any mishaps. He opened the folder someone had already put there and turned to the day's schedule. "Alright, quiet down!" He shouted, or attempted to. His voice was still croaky and as luck would have it, his 'colleagues' (and he used that word in it's loosest possible meaning) had chosen today to be especially boisterous. Kavanaugh was causing problems as always; apparently about to get into a more-than-verbal argument with Doctor Henran. His headache wasn't going away and the normally comfortable seemed unnaturally bright and stuffy.

He'd had enough.

"Quiet!" He yelled, slamming his folder down on the table. The assembled scientists (again, in the loosest possible way) froze, shocked.

Ah, finally, blissful silence.

"Right. Now if you've all finished acting like a second grade gym class, perhaps we can get some actual work done?" He managed, injected more than a little military sternness into his fading voice. Sheppard would have been proud. Everyone exchanged 'he's nuts' glances with each other, then to Rodney's everlasting gratitude, sat down quietly, and the meeting began.

For the first ten minutes it was fine. He barely had to do anything. The leader of each subgroup made a brief presentation on their plans for the day. All he had to do was co-ordinate all those plans; make sure no one's kinetically activated mine got accidentally activated by the superplant from PJX 433.

Easy, so you'd think.

Then the coffee arrived.

Coffee was an essential part of the morning briefing. Most of the scientists would already have had several cups in the mess hall before heading over. He himself usually drank at least three or four cups before 0500. It woke them up, jump started what few brain cells were around, and generally kept the usually irritable rabble in a reasonable mood.

But today even the thought of the thick, strong liquid oozing its way down his oesophagus sent rolls of nausea through his stomach. The smell that drifted from the tray borne over to him by Dr Finn brought last night's dinner dangerously close to a revisit.

"Dr McKay?" Dr Finn inquired, a note of worry in her voice. "Are you okay?"

"Fine." he muttered, "Radek, which lab do you need for this afternoon?" Deep breaths. He was _not_ going to throw up.

"Dr McKay are you sure.."

"You do look awfully white Rodney." Zelenka chimed in. What did they want? Yes, he felt terrible but he had _work_ to do. God that smell. If Dr Finn didn't move away fast that white lab coat was going to be far less white.

"I'm fine. I'm better than fine, I'm fantastic. So how about we finish this briefing so we can all get to work. In fact," he waved Dr Finn away, "You can forget the coffee. I already had some this morning. So any questions? No? Good! I'll be going….somewhere then. Radek I'll see you later, Kavanaugh, likewise. Everyone sorted? Yes? Good…bye!"

And with that Rodney McKay ran from the briefing room, sprinted to the nearest bathroom, and promptly threw up.

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Goodness you guys were generous with the reviews! Keep it up! I know this was quite a short chapter but it's just a warm up really ;) I humbly apologise to allthose who took offence to my comment aboutRodney not being a hero. What I meant was that he isn't usually heroic where injuries are concerned ;)But he certainly is a hero, albeit in a very good disguise!

Spare me a minute and review?


	3. 0515 Bathroom Break

"Rodney?"

Dr Rodney McKay, one of the world's top astrophysicists, probably the smartest man in Atlantis, and self-proclaimed genius sank back miserably against the lavatory wall. His stomach felt like it had been turned inside out and kicked several times for good measure. He was nauseous, sweaty, and exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to go back to bed.

"Rodney."

And now he had to fake perfect health to one of Atlantis's other geniuses.

"Coming." He called, standing up shakily and flushing the evidence of his little 'episode'. He opened the door and put his best 'why are you bothering me' expression on. Zelenka just stared at him.

"Rodney?"

"Radek?"

"Are you…quite well?"

"What? Of course I am. Can't a man go to the bathroom without being subjected to constant questions?"

"Rodney…"

"Now," He dodging round his fellow scientist. "If you'll excuse me I have, as always, work to do."

"Rodney!" Slowly, he turned around, Radek looked…wait, was that concern? And why was he still turning? No, that wasn't him, that was….everything else. "Oh…"

Suddenly he was on the floor. Radek had a hand under his arm and was saying something urgently. He pushed him away, "I'm fine! Fine! I just slipped."

"No you are not! You are ill! For you to be up working it is…stupidity!"

"I'm fine. It's just a little cold. I'll be fine in no time."

"You need to see Beckett."

"Oh god, you didn't call him did you?"

"Not yet, I…" a flash of understanding lit the face of the other scientist, Rodney stood uneasily as Radek did likewise. "You are scheduled for a mission later, yes?" Rodney shuffled uneasily, wishing desperately for the medication to kick in.

"Maybe…I haven't checked. What difference does it make?"

"You…you Blbecek! You cannot go on mission. It is…" Zelenka trailed off in Czech, frustration clear in his face.

"Radek, please just listen for moment." He waited till his friend was quiet. "I am ill okay, I admit it! But I really can't take a break right now, however much I'd like to."

"Rodney, whatever you might think, you are not only scientist on Atlantis. We can do work!"

"But not all of it!" he sighed, "Look, last time we were on PX4 873 we found a device, we didn't know what it did then, but I've been working on the video and photographs since and I think I know. I think…I think it's a device designed to reverse the effects of the wraith."

"The effects? You mean bring dead back?"

"Well I don't know if it goes that far, but I think it was designed to reverse the aging effects of a wraith attack." He coughed, then straightening, turned back anxiously to Radek. "Imagine, if we had a device like that what happened to Colonel Everett, to…Gall, it never needs to happen again! And there's no telling what other applications it could have! It could stop aging, stop cancers developing! Don't you see-" A coughing fit overtook him and he doubled over wheezing. An arm looped itself round his and stopped him from falling.

"Rodney, I understand. You feel guilt still for Gall. We all miss him. But one of us can go on this mission. You do not need to."

"But I do. I've spent a _month_ working on this, how it might work, what we need to do. I can't explain it all in a few hours! And if the mission gets delayed now it could be weeks before we can go again." Radek looked uneasy, but Rodney pressed his point. "Look, I know I'm not exactly modest. I might ever occasionally be a little…"

"Arrogant? Stubborn? big-head?"

"…Overconfident." He did his best to glare. "But I really think I can do this. I _need_ to do this." he paused, "I'm asking a favour. Please, just turn a blind eye today. I won't mess up, I swear." Zelenka frowned, looking from Rodney to the door.

"The planet, it is unpopulated."

"No one there. Not even a mouse."

"and you…you think you can complete mission?"

"Definitely."

"How will you get past Dr Beckett? You have to report for medical before mission, yes?" Rodney breathed out as much as his blocked up nose would let him. He would get away with it.

"I'll figure something out, listen, I have to get down to the 02 filters. But I'll see you later for the test."

"Rodney I…I am not sure about this."

"I'll prove it to you, honest. I have to go, thanks for your help, bye!" he half ran, half fell out the door, leaving Zadek behind him. Time to get to… he coughed. Work, he had to work.

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Thanks for all your reviews! They are great :) I just feel guilty I can't write fast enough to keep up with them! Still they are a real motivator to keep the story going so don't stop!Isn't Zelenka great? Have tolove him in the Seige. And the character rocked in duet too. More of him later plus Sheppard, Weir, Teyla, and just about everyone. Not to mention something horrible is goingto happen to Kavanuagh. Stay tuned ;) 


	4. 0530 02 Check

Rodney breathed experimentally through his nose. Still difficult but a little better. The throbbing in his head had subsided to a bearable level too, maybe he could actually pull this off. Wouldn't be the first time he'd beaten impossible odds in the name of science. In fact it was becoming a habit, must be Sheppard's influence. Hopefully it wouldn't have the same effect on his hair.

The transporter stopped, the doors opening with a slight hiss. It really _was _like being on Startrek. He made his way to the massive chamber where the O2 filters hummed reassuringly away. The filters extracted air from outside the city, passed it through conduits coated with a variety of chemicals designed to extract any toxins, and then directed it around Atlantis. Though there were plenty of doors and windows to the outside, these were insufficient to supply the entire city with oxygen especially as some of it was still underwater. The filters provided life support to about 80 of the city. Hence they were very, very, important.

The soldiers 'guarding' the environmental controls looked up as he came in. "Hey Doc." one of them drawled, a Lieutenant Harris if he remembered correctly. Grunting absently, he headed straight for the controls, opening the necessary programmes to run a diagnostic.

"So…what's the weather forecast today?" The other one…Captain something or other inquired. Would these people never comprehend the importance of silence when a genius was at work?

"What?"

"You know, the weather? Sun, rain, clouds, we've been on duty since 0100."

"Oh…I didn't look."

"You didn't look?"

"I had more important things to do than check out the view Captain." He coughed again, trying to focus on the blurry sequence of numbers in front of him. Damn his throat was sore, and being forced to make idle conversation wasn't helping.

"You alright McKay."

"Yes fine, thank you."

"Only I'd hate you to spend that cough through Atlantis. The indigestion we get from the rations is bad enough."

"The air in here is dry Lieutenant, not that _you'd _notice."

"What's that mean to mean?"

"It's blocked."

"What?"

"Not you...just…look at this." He gestured for the guards to see the display. "The conduit to the mess hall is blocked. Nothing is getting through."

"Wouldn't whoever was guarding the bay have noticed?"

"Not necessarily, there is a lot redundancy built into all the ancient systems. The oxygen might be a little lower than usual but not enough to be noticeable when there are other conduits feeding into areas close by."

"So what's the problem?"

"The _problem_ is that these filters are designed to go one way, there are valves in place to prevent the air going backwards. So instead of the air being released into Atlantis, there's a build up in the conduit."

"How big a build up?"

"Big."

"But it's just of air right? Harmless oxygen, nitrogen, carbon dioxide?"

"The initial build up might be, but see this valve here? It's made of something akin to rubber on earth. Now this is swollen and has blocked off _this_ valve. Which is unfortunately carrying something a lot more harmful."

"Chlorine?"

"You got it. Chlorine is directed to the water tanks, but the build up in the air conduit is so severe that a significant amount of chlorine has been trapped too. All the conduits run alongside each other."

"It's going to blow?"

"In less than fifteen minutes. And when that happens, chlorine gas is going to be fed right into Atlantis. If we don't stop it, it'll kill anyone within a mile's radius of that section."

"What can we do?" All humour was gone from their faces now. Good, he needed their help.

"I need to get down to the conduits where the blockage is. They run along the top of a larger passage which carries water to those sections. I need you to contact Dr Zelenka and tell him to shut of water to passage 109A. With the flow turned off I should be able to crawl along the passage, locate the blockage and vent the excess gas it before both it and the air conduit rupture. The passage way will need to be sealed off until I can reroute the valve." He took a deep breath "And all of this needs to happen in the nest twelve and a half minutes!"

"Acknowledged." The Captain picked his radio up from the console, "But Doc, if you're venting the gas into the passageway how will you avoid getting poisoned?" McKay was already halfway out the door,

"Oxygen Captain. Oxygen."

By the time McKay reaching the hatch to the water tunnel, the flow had already been turned off. "Thank you Zelenka." Rodney breathed, gingerly opening the narrow entrance. The passage was dark, damp, and only _just_ big enough for someone to squeeze into. He turn on his torch, took a deep, deep breath, and climbed in.

Inside, the passage seemed even smaller. "I am not in a small, dark tunnel which could fill up with water at anytime. I am _not_ in a small dark tunnel that could- oh dammit." He pulled the navigation device out of his pocket. "Right, only ten metres left. Hardly anything, there are rooms bigger than that. Ten metres, just a little-At-choo! A little further. Ow! What-you'd think they'd make these passage ways bigger! Ow my head! As though I haven't got enough problems. I wonder how much air is in here? Plenty! Just because the door is shut and this is a really really narrow passageway that is usually full of water…ah! Here it is!" He looked up, half a dozen rubbery black tubes ran over his head. One was visibly swollen and blocked another which was even _more_ swollen. "Right. So all I need to do is vent the gas here, so it'll release the valve in the chlorine conduit and we won't all die. Easy." He coughed. "Easy."

Five minutes later he was forced to admit it wasn't so easy. It looked like the valve in the air conduit was actually stuck, completely closing off the of the tube. And to make it worse it seemed like the pressure of the air conduit pressing against it had permanently disfigured the shape of the tube carrying the chlorine. He needed to completely replace that section of tubing. But to do that…

"Rodney?" the slightly accented voice echoed through the tunnel. "Have you located the problem?"

"Radek, yeah, it isn't looking so good. I have to replace one of the conduits."

"Which one?"

"Which one do you think? The poisonous one of course. You think I'd ever actually get it easy?"

"Rodney you should not be doing this! You are not well!"

"I know, I know, but we don't have time to argue about it now. Now have you cut off the gas supply to the this passage?"

"Most of it. However we still don't understand all of the engineering behind the ancient systems and we-"

"Just tell me." He could almost hear Zelenka sigh.

"We cannot stop the chlorine gas." Rodney sat back disbelievingly.

"Great. Just great."

Rodney closed the entrance to the hatch again, trying to forget the sight of Radek's concerned expression. He might not understand Czech but he could guess at the meaning of some of Radek's words. Still, too late to turn back now. He crawled back to the conduits.

With the air supply shut off, all he needed to do was puncture the air conduit to release the pressure built up. He could repair it later. The still-flowing chlorine would be harder. He couldn't block it off or there would just be another build up of gas that could rupture who knows where. He had to let it filter out into this passage. Both ends of the tunnel had been sealed off, and surrounded rooms evacuated. The only people at risk were the scientists outside the tunnel, anxiously monitoring his progress, and him. He had to stop being so heroic, it wasn't good for his health. He coughed miserably and punctured the air conduit.

He was rewarded by the hiss of air escaping. The valve began to deflate. Step one complete. Now for the tricky part. He pulled the goggles and oxygen mask from the pack Radek had handed him whilst talking into his headset.

"I've deflated the first conduit. About to start repairs on the chlorine pipe now."

"Acknowledged," a pause, "Good luck Rodney."

"You had to say it didn't you?" he paused too, "Thanks."

Silence, he fitted his goggles, put on the oxygen tank and mask, and got out his knife. Then taking a deep breath of the precious air, he slit the tube open.

It wasn't that he was mortally terrified of sitting in a tunnel full of poisonous gas. It was just that…okay he was mortally terrified. He didn't want to die, was that so awful? Even Sheppard couldn't _want _to die. He was just better at hiding it.

"Are you okay Rodney?" Radek's voice filtered through, he frowned irritably, "I'm fine, why wouldn't I be, it isn't like chlorine is poisonous, oh wait! It is!"

"I just mean...you breathe very fast."

"Well…I'm claustrophobic. And this is a very small, very enclosed space. So If you don't mind, I'd like to hurry up and finish so I can get out of here!"

Silence. "Okay Rodney. We'll see you soon."

"Fine. Don't call me, I'll call you," and he took his headset off.

Almost done. He just had to finish sealing the other end of the new tube. Then he could go back outside having proved himself once again to be the smartest man in Atlantis. Well, at least a good engineer. He'd have saved the day anyway. He coughed awkwardly into his mask. And again. God what was wrong, his throat felt like it was closing over. He pulled off his tank to check the air supply and stopped, staring in horror. It looked like he'd been careless putting his knife down. It had cut a small hole in the tube leading to his mask. Small? The tube was almost cut in half! Air was flowing straight out, and chlorine straight in. Dammit! He turned back to the chlorine conduit, he _had_ to finish this, otherwise the gas would just be left flowing and could get so strong it would be lethal for anyone to even try and finish. He could do this…he ignored the mask and put his mouth to the puncture in the air conduit. Sweet, sweet oxygen! He took a deep shuddering breath. He had to.

He was done, which was good as so was the leftover air in the piping. He just had to crawl the ten metres back to the hatch. Easy, he could do it. He took a last halting breath, ignoring the burning in his chest and throat and began.

See, he could make it. A little further. God, his lungs were going to explode! He had to breathe! Surely the air was cleaner up here! He gulped in air, only to collapse coughing to the floor of the tunnel. Wrong. He was going to die. Only a couple of metres from safety. His headset was still down there, he shouldn't have taken it off. Stupid McKay, stupid. He was always stupid. Sorry Elizabeth, sorry Sheppard, didn't mean it to go down like this. Sorry Radek. He was so dizzy, he couldn't breathe-

And everything burst in an explosion of white light.

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Hey guys! Isn't it dramatic? Poor old Rodney :) Whatever will happen to him next. Provided I don't kill him off of course...though that would take the fun out of whumping him. And how will he avoid Carson now?

Please spend a few seconds to leave me a review? I eat, sleep, and breathe opinions ;)


	5. 0600 Clashing with Kavanagh

He blinked hard, the white light dimming to something bearable even as his lungs seemed to implode in his chest.

"Rodney!" They'd opened the hatch, someone had opened it! Only a few feet away, if he could just- he pushed himself up on shaky arms and flung himself towards the narrow doorway.

He didn't make it, but it didn't matter. Arms were reaching inside, pulling him out of the green mist. Strange creatures with bulbous eyes and distorted faces dragged him away from the dark, cramped space and into the wide, open room beyond. A mask was forced over his mouth and he greedily gulped the rich oxygen, each breath cooling the acid in his chest a little.

The weird shapes around him settled and defined themselves. Dr Suston, Browne, and of course, Zelenka. The hatch had been closed, and whatever small amount of gas that had escaped into the room must have dispersed as they'd removed their own masks and goggles. He sat up gingerly, and pulled off his own.

Straight away he burst into a coughing fit, someone pushed the mask back against his face. "You really should keep that on Dr McKay. You breathed in a lot of the gas." Dr Browne was saying, he thought it was her.

"Not enough, obviously." He managed before coughing again. "The pressure, is-is it-"

"The pressure has stabilised. You fixed it." Radek replied. "But you- you almost die! Stupid!"

"Well, nice to know you care." Rodney gasped before leaning forward and taking another long drag on the oxygen. He could hear Zelenka rolling his eyes, really, could you hear that? Only he could swear he-oh no! The coughing fit took him by surprise and he clutched ineffectually at his chest.

"Are they nearly here?" The other Doctor, Suston was talking over his head.

"Soon, Dr Beckett said-"

"Beckett!" He forced himself to sit up straight, "You called Carson?" The doctors just stared him.

"You were exposed to chlorine gas Rodney. Too much inhaled, it is not good." Radek explained smoothly. "You need to see Doctor. We can finish work here."

"No-I have to go." He stood a little too quickly and swayed. The scientists exchanged panicked looks about him. Did he ever look like that? No wonder the military personnel viewed the scientists with a degree of contempt.

"Rodney, a while ago I said I will let you go. Half an hour later, here you are, you nearly died! If I let you go again, do you hurt yourself again in another hour?"

"I'm a big boy, Radek, I can look after myself."

"Apparently not!" The two glared at each other, but couldn't maintain the anger for long. Radek sighed.

"You are difficult to understand like this McKay."

"I'm always like this."

"My point." Rodney shook his head, immediately regretting it as he did so.

"Look," He picked up the oxygen mask and took a quick breath, really not helping his image but at least he could keep talking. "Look, someone still needs to finish fixing the air flow to the mess hall, you guys carry on with that, I'm just going to…" he gestured vaguely towards the door, the doctors were staring at him. He dropped the mask.

"Rodney…"

"Just…tell Carson I'm fine, I'll catch up with him later. Thanks for….you know, thank you, thank you, bye!" and with that Rodney McKay burst into a sprint, well a wobbly jog, and headed for his next appointment.

* * *

After listening to Kavanagh talk on (and on and on) in his smug, self-satisfied manner for five minutes, Rodney had had enough. The man had an incurably large ego and was arrogant as hell. 

'Remind you of anyone?' His inner 'Sheppard' quipped, with the real one, he ignored the barb.

"No no no no no." He interrupted. "It won't work."

"What do you mean it won't work? My plans clearly show-"

"If we wanted to cause blackouts in half the city and random explosions in the other half, then sure, it's a great plan. But as we've all gotten kind of used to seeing the city in one piece…"

"That's pure speculation. You just hate the idea that someone other than you might be the one who saves the city." Was this guy for real? And did he _have _to eat a fried breakfast? The odour of whatever junk was on Kavanagh's plate was almost more than his delicate stomach could stand. His cough seemed to have died down though. And was the idiot still talking?"

"I know you think you're the big man around here McKay, but the fact is, if the current administration wasn't so-"

"Shut up."

"Excuse me?"

"I said 'shut up' Kavanagh!" And the other scientist actually did, probably shocked. Rodney leaned forward,

"I'm sick and tired of your constant and inhaling whining! You want to know why I always reject your ideas? Because they are always, completely, undoubtedly, _worthless_ from start to finish."

"You miserable little-"

"Like your plan last month to save power by deactivating the gate shield? No one mention the word 'Wraith' to you? You think the military personnel want to waste their time guarding the gate constantly? Let me tell you, if it wasn't for that shield, you wouldn't be here to whine about how much power it wastes."

"How dare-"

"And your plan to increase the efficiency of the main systems by deleting all 'irrelevant' data? Did it not occur to you that just because we can't use it right now, it might help us later, or whoever comes after us in the future? Or that the military might not want to share quarters so you can conserve a few measly kilojoules every month? Or perhaps that the Anthosian's might not want to be conscripted into the military so 'unnecessary' personnel can be sent back to Earth. As though we don't need every man we have here!"

"My ideas have merit! Just because you refuse to recognise a true genius when you-"

"Genius! _I'm_ a Genius. Zelenka is a genius, most of the people here are geniuses. You Kavanagh, are an idiot." He got up, ignoring the building nausea and turned away, "We're done here."

A hand gripped his arm and pulled him round, "How dare you walk away from me you-ugh!"

And with the great satisfaction, Doctor Rodney McKay lost the battle he'd been fighting for half an hour and threw up on Kavanagh's shoes.

* * *

Poor old Rodney. I decided he needed saving, more from himself than anything! Dear me Carson is going to be mad with him. For those who forgot, Rodney left his headset in the tunnel so he can't be contacted through that :) Plenty of Rodney whump coming up, more SGA members will be involved soon, I just like Zelenka :) 

Anonylurker - Yes I do need a beta! Anyone know where the beta tree is? I can't find any lying around!

Thanks sooo much for all the reviews :) Good and bad they all make me smile. If you want to be nice to me (and it is christmas) leave me one now?

Go on, you know you want to :)


	6. 0700 Shield Testing

Rodney left the mess hall after muttering a few apologies to the mess hall staff. Kavanaugh was still yelling but didn't seem to be attracting any real sympathy. On the contrary, he distinctly heard the lieutenant in charge of breakfast that morning tell the irate scientist, "If you don't shut up that racket Kavanuagh, I'll give you something to really complain about."

Nice to know the military viewed all scientists with equal contempt.

"McKay! Doctor McKay! Wait up!" He turned to see the same Lieutenant that had been yelling at Kavanaugh walking swiftly towards him. Great, as though he didn't already have a headache. The Lieutenant…Stevens, Stevenson, something like that, caught up with him easily.

"You okay?" Huh?

"What? Yes…yes fine."

"Really? Because that's quite a mess you made of my mess."

"I'm sorry…I didn't mean-" The Lieutenant waved away his apology,

"Don't worry about it. You made a very dull morning a little more entertaining. Besides from the sound of it, Kavanaugh deserved everything he got."

"You heard us talking?"

"McKay, I think the SGC heard you two 'talking'." McKay glanced at the him, slightly relieved to notice the man was smiling. "He sounded pretty crass from what I could see."

"Yeah, Kavanaugh's always been an-" a fit of coughing took him unawares and only the steadying hand of the Lieutenant stopped him from doubling over, "Sorry." He gasped breathlessly.

"Gee McKay, I don't think I've ever heard you apologise so much. Actually I don't ever remember you apologise before."

"Make the most of it." Rodney retorted, but with no real antagonism. He leant against the wall, inwardly pleading with his stomach to behave itself. Once was apparently forgivable in the military. But if he vomited over this guy's shoes, sick or no, he was in trouble. But the man seemed to be regarding him with something akin to sympathy.

"Still feeling rough?" He bit back a sarcastic retort. He didn't have the energy for it anyway.

"That would be a yes."

"Do I need to call Beckett?"

"No!" He pushed himself off the wall, oddly pleased when he didn't fall straight over. He took a deep breath. "I'll be fine."

"You sure? Because I could-"

"I'll be fine Lieutenant. Don't you have a mess to get back to." The barb was unintentional, and fortunately apparently lost on the man who just nodded a little uneasily.

"Sure. Hope you feel better soon Doc." McKay nodded an acknowledgement, and the officer walked away, just before he turned the corner however…

"Lieutenant." Stevens, that _was_ his name, turned. "Thanks."

"Anytime Doc." And the two went their separate ways.

* * *

He had half an hour before he was due in the labs. Usually he'd use that time working on any projects he had running at the moment. Today however, he spent it in his quarters, lying down with a damp flannel on his head. He'd have to get a new headset before going to the labs, but for now the silence was a blessing. He felt almost better before the shrill alarm he'd set reminded him he had to get going. Coughing a little, he rolled over,

Right onto the floor.

Ouch.

Right. Time to get up. Up and at'm McKay.

God, he must be delirious . He had an inner Sheppard.

No time for internal monologues on just how screwed he was later. Work.

Oh yeah, he had to get up first.

Ten minutes later, an uncharacteristically late Rodney hurried into Lab 012. He ignored the concerned glances of Radek and, ushering a lab assistant out of the way, got on with calibrating the power source for the new shield.

Whilst the city shield was now reasonably operable, it had come to Sheppard's attention a few months ago that the jumpers had no such defense. (Well, it had occurred to him as well, but of course when _he_ mentioned it, the general response was 'Shut up Rodney'.) Sheppard had talked to (complained to) Elizabeth who had _suggested_, that maybe it would be a good idea to find a way to shield the puddlejumpers.

"And why I'm at it, would you like me to find a way to control the weather?" he recalled his response had been. Sheppard, always present when there was a chance to annoy, had replied cheerfully,

"If you have a minute, sure."

Damn Flyboy.

But surprisingly Radek had come up with some good ideas. Not that Radek was in any way stupid, compared to most of the so-called scientists in Atlantis, he was a genius (though not as much as himself, obviously). But Radek was usually one to back up and support a project, rather than lead it. He was suspicious that Zelenka was getting worried about the number of times he was being asked to go off world and wanted more security. Huh, some people. They never appreciated a good old fashioned fire fight.

Or, you know, one with huge great ships and aliens with space guns.

Why had he signed up for this mission again?

Anyway, the shield. Basically it created a magnetic field around the puddlejumper's hull, so powerful that it repelled anything that came within five feet of the hull, even missiles.

Well, that was the theory anyway. The main problem was they had to test it on a real ship. And Sheppard was as usual, demonstrating his Captain Kirk persona and had insisted on being present for the test. Like he'd do anything to break the ships, if anything it was Sheppard who-

"Good Morning!" Speak of the devil. The Colonel strolled into the lab with a face so cheerful it should be banned. "And how fare the Geeks of Atlantis today?"

The lab went quiet, every tech, labbie, and doctor turned to face the Colonel who froze.

"Sorry…did I say that out loud?" Rodney snorted,

Yeah, meet Colonel Custard, the saviour of Atlantis. They were without a doubt; doomed.

"So…Rodney!" Sheppard cast off his embarrassment by latching onto his friend. "Nearly ready?"

"Colonel this is a very delicate process so I'm appreciate it if you didn't-"

"Alright! Chill out Rodney. Wouldn't want you to go wrong."

"That's highly unlikely, however-"

"Great! So are we ready to go?"

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Rodney was inside puddlejumper four making the final adjustments. His stomach had settled, at least a bit, so he was drinking water at every opportunity to soothe the fearsome cough in his throat. His fever seemed to have abated for now at least, the Tylenol apparently still in his system. But Radek was still giving him suspicious looks from time to time, and it was all he could do to make half-hearted responses to Sheppard's oh-so-dry wit. He'd swear that man got more and more irritating by the day.

"Rodney, you finished?" Sheppard yelled from outside. Speak of the devil, or just his haircut…

"Done here!" He shouted back, slotting the last piece into the previously dismantled cloak drive (not that he'd mentioned to Sheppard that was what he was dismantling.) As when the city's cloak was activated the shield was inoperable, the puddlejumper's cloak would be useless whilst the shield was on. But he'd be able to switch between them. Probably. Anyway…

Sheppard strolled into the jumper, followed by Radek who gave him _another _look. Come on, he couldn't look that bad! Sheppard hadn't noticed a thing, and he was practically Carson as far as ill health went. Unless it was his own of course in which case he couldn't be more oblivious. The man was pigheaded, and apparently had a death wish, which was ironic as the universe seemed determined to keep him _alive_. As opposed to himself, he very much wanted to survive this galaxy, and the galaxy seemed determined to finish him off. Today being a prime example. He smothered a cough miserably.

"So…" Sheppard tapped a console impatiently, "We good to go?"

"Well, really we'd like to spend a few more hours running simulations…" Rodney trailed off as the Colonel glanced in his direction, how did he do that? "Fine, yes, let's go."

"It is done Colonel." Radek added his assurances from the door of the ship. "You can go now."

"You?" Rodney asked suspiciously. "You mean 'We'"

"Rodney…you know I do not fly well."

"Radek, if you're referring to the aversion you seem to have to being more than two feet above ground level, get over it. You're coming with us."

"I-"

"Doc, We need you." Sheppard cut in. "According to Rodney you've done pretty much all the work on this project. Don't you want to see how it turns out?"

"I-I do not like flying. People were meant to walk. Not fly in clouds in metal boxes."

"Hey! People were meant to stay in one galaxy too. You broke that rule. Flying is nothing on that!"

"You're coming Radek." Rodney insisted. "If there are any problems up there you're the one to solve them."

"I-"

"No. Arguing." He watched with slight amusement as Zelenka warily stepped inside before turning back to the console in front of him. "Honestly you'd think these things blew up or something."

* * *

Soon they were in the air and a fair distance from Atlantis. The test should be perfectly safe. But just in case, Elizabeth had requested it not be conducted in the jumper bay. Apparently she was getting paranoid after the few (okay, several) slightly (very) explosive incidents that had occurred a while ago (in the last week).

"Okay…Sheppard quipped eagerly, casually bringing the ship to a steady hover. "So how do I turn on this thing?" Radek who looked distinctly green (so that's why he didn't fly!) leaned over Sheppard's shoulder,

"It should be relatively simple. We cannot copy the way your brain interacts with the ship's systems, we are not that advanced. But if you think 'cloak', it should activate the same system."

"Or blow us to pieces…" Radek glared at him, the Colonel winced slightly.

"Blow us to pieces?"

"Well we are dealing with a huge magnetic force here Colonel."

"But the chances of it inversing are-"

"Slim I know, but you have to consider-"

"I did, the ship is ready-"

"I hope so because otherwise-"

"Gentlemen!" Both scientists turned to Colonel Sheppard. Rodney noted his facial expression hadn't moved an inch. Incredible. "Now. All I need to know is, is this going to work?"

"Yes."

"Yes…Probably."

"Good." The Colonel grinned, "Then I have a surprise for you." He nodded to the front window, they looked out.

Hovering just ahead of them was puddlejumper two, and inside were two marines.

"Major Suddrick and Lieutenant Bourne are here to help us test the shield." Sheppard explained, his eyes all lit up like a kid at Christmas. The military leader of Atlantis waved happily at the marines who waved back. The scientists exchanged horrified glances.

Rodney's headache was on its way back.

* * *

Sorry it's been so long! Christmas/new year stuff. Back now though, and will update my stargate/mutant X fic soon too! What will happen when they turn that shield on? Dear me :)

Review for a desperate fic writer?


	7. 0735 Wipeout

"What?" Rodney asked, staring in disbelief at the other 'jumper.

"You needed a way to test this weapon. How else were you going to do it?" Radek muttering something about skimming the water. "Look, I need to know this shield thing is going to stand up to enemy fire. The only way we're going to know that is to get some enemy fire."

"So you want them to shoot at us!"

"Yes."

"To test an untested piece of technology."

"Yes. Do you have a problem with that?"

"I-!" He caught Radek's eye. The guy would be humiliated if he questioned his skills in front of him, and after last time, he really didn't want Radek mad with him…that green had taken weeks to wash off. Besides, he hadn't been able to find any mistakes in the device, there was no reason it shouldn't work.

Besides, his head hurt, his stomach rolled, and the sooner he finished with this the sooner he could go back to Atlantis and sit down.

"Just…ask them not to fire on anything vital?" He requested, slumping back into his chair. Sheppard nodded cheerfully,

"Sure. Sit back boys, this should be fun!"

_Boys?

* * *

_

"Don't worry McKay, It'll be fun McKay, They won't fire on anything important McKay, Well I think they might have hit something important!" He ranted as his hands flew feverishly across the controls.

"Well if your shield _worked _like you said it would it wouldn't matter!" Sheppard yelled back. The ship bucked and rocked as the Colonel tried to bring it back under control. Sparks seemed to be everywhere as things flew apart.

"It was Zelenka's shield! Not that it will matter in a few minutes when we go crashing into the ocean!"

"McKay-"

"I always wanted to try drowning. I mean, the first McKay that came to Atlantis drowned, maybe it's the universal rule that all McKay's should die that way-"

"McKay…"

"Who wouldn't want a slow, cold, painful death from asphyxiation. I mean it's-"

"MCKAY!" He froze, looking at Sheppard who clung desperately to the controls.

"Fix. The damn. Ship."

"Right…okay." They continued in silence for a minute, one trying to repair the ship, one trying to fly it.

"Is Dr Zelenka conscious yet?" Rodney glanced over, the scientist was still slumped over his console, face down, a disturbing trickle of blood from his temple.

"No. Not that it'll matter if-"

"Rodney!"

"Right…fixing the ship." He frowned at the controls. Why had that missile hit them? The other four hadn't! Was the shield not strong enough? No, the force should be…"Dammit!

"McKay…talk to me!"

"It's the converter! The device that adapts the energy used to power the cloak into a magnetic field. There must have been a power surge somehow, maybe when one of the missiles hit! It's fried!"

"Can you fix it?"

"Didn't you hear me? It's fried!"

"NOT the converter, the ship!"

"Oh, wait-" He grimaced as he reported, "That last blast got the right engine pod. It's not responding-"

"Tell me something I don't know!"

"And the left one is about to give out from the strain of keeping us upright. We need to land now!"

"On water? Rodney, these things don't float!"

"Well if you have a better idea I'm open to suggestions about now!" The two men glared at each other, the only sound the loud whine of the malfunctioning engines. Rodney straightened,

"The shield."

"The one that didn't work?"

"It's not the shield! It was the wires in the converter, they couldn't handle the power flow. If I can fix that, the shield should power up again, and it'll repel the water! We should just skim right across which is how we meant to test it in the first place I might add!"

"You said the converter was fried?"

"Yes, but I have an idea." Rodney pushed himself up, flying into the wall as the ship bucked, "Ow!"

"What can I do?"

"Just try and fly in a straight line! If you can manage that?"

"Just fix the damn converter Rodney!" Grunting, Rodney pulled himself over to the back of the ship, opening the conduit that ran high up against the wall. Yep, it was fried. The ancient crystal system looked more elegant than ever against the smoking mess of wires that was the power converter. The ship swayed dangerously and he clung on, "I said fly _straight_ Colonel!"

"Want to try!"  
"Well I-"

"McKay!"

"Right, right!" He examined the components anxiously. It wasn't all that bad. If he could only form a connection between the converter and the cloak again, one that wouldn't fry. But the only wires he had would melt just like the old ones, and if that happened…

Zelenka just had to test this didn't he? What happened to the good old days when everything was theory, and no one would dream of actually trying something like this? Of course Radek's glasses were so steamed up half the time it's no wonder he-

Wait a minute.

"Yes!" He shouted, "And the genius solves it again!" He half fell half ran into the front compartment. "Keep your eyes on the wheel Colonel" He warned as Sheppard looked round at him,

"Let me worry about flying, you've fixed it?"

"Give me two minutes and I will have!" the ship gave a particularly violent jerk,

"You have one!"

Muttering, Rodney slid over to Zelenka, "Sorry Radek" and took what he needed before racing back to the open conduit. The ship shook, before veering suddenly downwards,

"McKay, we're falling!"

"Almost there." He stared at the panel…oh god, but there was no other way…

He straightened out the thin metal framework, no time for gloves, but the current….

He'd had worse.

Probably.

"Sheppard, you're going to get a power surge through the converter. Get ready to activate the shield."

"When!"

"Oh…When I start screaming with girlish fear."

"What!"

Clenching his teeth, he positioned the metal just above the circuit.

"Rodney!" He took a deep breath, and plunged the makeshift connection, hand attached, into the circuitry.

He screamed.

* * *

Poor old Rodney! I am whumping him. And most of Atlantis is still asleep! I wonder what he took from Zelenka to make that connection... Have a guess ;) Exams this week but I'll try and update very soon anyway.

You guys are great, I love the reviews. They are like Ben and Jerry's ice cream :) You can never have enough. Do keep it up ;)


	8. 0745 Crash Landing

Volcano-hot-blue-flames spiking-searing down burning muscles-on-fire-can't-cope-can't-cope-can't-cope-

Must cope.

Ice-white-tendrils-shrieking lightning through veins-of red-sparks-hurts-god-how-it-hurts-hurts-

Hang on.

"McKay!" A shout cut through the piercing wail that filled the ship. "What the heck is going on back there!"

Sheppard, he forced one convulsing eyelid open, it was holding-it was holding! The thin scrap of metal was-God!-was carrying the current.

Burning-acid-snakes in every cell-

Had to hold it till they hit, hold-it-till-they-hit, impact would knock out connection, hold-it-till-they-hit-

Wailing-Sheppard-shouting-going-in-and-

They hit.

* * *

A swaying, giddy bounce on the water, like a skimming stone, a few more, then the gentle rocking of a boat. 

Shaking eyes looked at the makeshift circuit, it would hold.

Gasping, he withdrew his hand andsank shaking onto the floor.

"Rodney!" ignoring the frantic voice he shut his eyes. "Rodney!" Suddenly it was a lot closer. He looked up, trembling with the effort. Sheppard was crouched in front of him. "What the hell did you do?" The Colonel actually looked worried, did he scream or something?

"Heck yes!" Sheppard said, he'd spoken aloud? "Like a stuck pig. Or Koyla." the pilot finished thoughtfully before jerking his head at the open panel. "What did you do?"

"Converter was fried."

"So you said, earlier. What's this?" He winced as Sheppard _picked up_ his arm, before staring at it detachedly. Bright red with white welts all over it, his right hand was a mess. He wondered idly if there was nerve damage. He clenched his first.

"Argh!" That's a no then. But-

"McKay are you trying to give me a heart attack! What did you do to yourself? Stick your hand in a-" His gaze darted suspiciously between the panel and Rodney's injured hand.

"Rodney."

Tiredly "Colonel."

"Did you stick your hand in a live circuit _on purpose_!"

"Yes." Sheppard just stared at him before getting up and walking over to Zelenka. As he was checking him out, the Colonel asked, voice deceptively calm,

"May I ask why?"

"Converter-"

"I know about the converter _Rodney. _But how did sticking your hand in there help?"

"Needed to finish the circuit, connect-" A shudder went through him, "Connect cloak and converter."

"Using your _hand_!"

"No…would have fallen out when we hit, had to hold it there. Radek?"

"Still out cold. Breathing's fine, strong pulse. He'll be okay." Sheppard tapped the unconscious scientist's shoulder, "Dr Z?"

No response. Sheppard sighed and reached under the seat for something. A green box, oh great, the first aid kit. He closed his eyes; just for a second, but when he opened them the Colonel was suddenly next to him again; putting something cold on his burnt hand.

"Hey." Sheppard said matter-of-factly.Rodney frowned,

"Uh, hello. The other man smiled, which seemed highly inappropriate given the circumstances but he decided to ignore it. The colonel got a bandage out of the box and started wrapping the offending appendage. That. Hurt.

"So if your hand wasn't the intended circuit-maker, what was?" The smooth conversation continued through the oh-so expert first aid. Rodney smiled slightly despite himself, only wincing slightly as the dressing was pulled tight..

"Take a look." Giving him a curious look, his friend stood to look into the panel, "But don't _touch _anything." He watched with detached amusement as the Colonel's eyes widened and he sat down again.

"You didn't."

"They were all I could think of."

"Can we even make them on Atlantis?"

"I uh, hope so."

"Zelenka's going to kill you."

"He wouldn't dare. He'd have get my job."

"And he wouldn't-"

"Wouldn't want that, no." Sheppard took another look at the makeshift circuitry and whistled.

"Still Ihope for your sakehe's got some spares lying around."

* * *

Of course, now they were floating (hovering, they were hovering) on the ocean, the problem was getting back. The 'Jumper was going nowhere fast. Sheppard was currently having a frenzied discussion with Suddrick and Bourne, (who he was pleased to learn had been frantically trying to hail them for the past ten minutes). He half heartedly tried to consider the problem, but felt oddly detached from the scene before him. Instead he tried to wake his fellow scientist. With the age old method of poking him in the arm. 

"Zelenka?" To his surprise it worked,the Doctorstirred,

"Urh.."

"Radek!" He prodded him again, "Stay with me here."

"Wh- McKay?" Rodney tried to repress a grin, failing.

"Congratulations! You have once again proved your genius in managing to identify a man you've known for nearly two years." He helped his friend sit up, "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by bus." Radek mumbled, leaning against the chair. "And you, you are-?"

"Considering we just nose dived into an ocean from several thousand feet. Just great." He gratefully sank into the chair on the other side of the jumper. Zelenka tried to look over at him before clutching his head and mumbling something incoherent in Czech.

"Hey! Careful, if we run into anymore trouble it's your turn to fix it." He joked softly, his own headache making itself known. As his friend glanced over at him again, blinking rapidly, Sheppard _finally_ finished his little chit chat and turned to face them.  
"Ah, Doctor Zelenka! Feeling better I hope?" Radek muttered something…colourful in his native language before slumping face-down onto the console. Sheppard winced. "Not better?"

Rodney rolled his eyes, "No, he's not."

"And you?"

"Looking very much forward to getting out of here. What's happening?"

"Well, Suddrick sends his apologies for shooting us down…"

"Heart-warming I'm sure."

"And we kind of have a plan, not sure you'll like it though."

"I'm sure I won't, do tell."

"Well it goes like this…"

* * *

"Well this is a bad plan." Rodney groused, looking at the precarious arrangement before him. Bourne and Suddrick's jumper was hovering a couple of feet above the water like theirs, though under Suddrick's control rather than under the influence ofan unstableshield device. Both 'jumpers had their hatches lowered; doors connecting, creating an unsteady 'bridge' between the ships. "All this ancient technology and this is the best you can come up with?" Sheppard,his arm round a groggy Zelenka's waist, cocked his head, 

"I didn't see you do better."

"Oh please, I-" he coughed, narrowly holding back a full blown fit. The Colonel was staring at him again.

"Rodney?" Waving his hand, he managed,

"Go, I'll…I'll be there in a minute." With a doubtful look, Sheppard nodded and half carried half dragged Radek to the hatch,  
"Rodney?" the semi-conscious scientist mumbled, Rodney sighed,

"Yes?"

"Where are my glasses?" Sheppard's eyes widened, classic military man. They'd stare down wraith darts but a scientist…

But then there was the incident with the green stuff last time…

"Zelenka, don't you have more important things to worry about at the moment?" He stammered defiantly. He waved Sheppard forward, "Well, get going!" With a final suspicious glance, Radek was pulled onto the 'bridge' and he watched as the pair made their way across. As they did so, he rummaged through the first aid kit with his good hand, ah sweet painkillers. He silently gave thanks to whoever decided it was a good idea to put a bottle of Tylenol in the life saving boxes. Downing a couple with a swig of water, he put a few more in his pocket, before being hit with another coughing fit.

"McKay!" He took a deep breath, soundlessly begging his raw throat to behave itself as he made his way back to the hatch. Sheppard, Zelenka-free stood in the doorway of the other 'jumper.

"McKay, Suddrick can't hold this thing steady forever you know?"

"Right…" he eyed the 'bridge'; his dizziness not entirely attributable to illness. "Right…"

"Rodney." He looked back at Sheppard. "Do you need me to come get you?"

"_No _Colonel, I think I can manage just fine." He swallowed. "This thing is safe right?"

"McKay…" Amazing how threatening a couple of syllables could sound coming from Sheppard. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, yes, coming." He stepped gingerly onto the bridge. "This isn't so bad. Okay I'm standing on the rickety platform of a ship that is being kept in the air by technology that was just fried by a-"

"Rodney, get moving."

"Right, moving!" He took another step, and another, he'd be on the platform of the other ship in just a minute. There, he was almost-

As his foot stepped onto the other ship, the platform _shook_. He swayed, clutching at empty air, and for a second he actually thought he'd regained his balance.

Then it shook again, he slipped, and everything went to hell.

* * *

Thank you all you lovely wonderful people for your reviews :) And see! They worked! Updated in less than 48 hours :) Or something like that. My exams are mostly over (thanks to all those who wished me luck, they were horrid! For those who told me the story was more important, I fully agree but sadly the examiners don't!) so I should be able to get this updated swiftly enough. For those who threatened to strangle/severely injure me if I didn't hurry up, I hope you're satisfied.

Please review again? I neeeed them :) As any other writer will tell you, they are what make writing worth ;)

You know, except for the whole satsifaction thing. And the fun of whumping Rodney.

So review! It'll take you a minute and greatly encourage me to write more!


	9. 0755 Certain Death?

It all happened so fast. One minute he was swaying dizzily on the 'bridge', the next there was a cry of 'McKay!' just before something hard hit his head and it all went black.

When the lungs are inflated, the human body, especially one with a higher proportion of body fat, is naturally buoyant. Even weighed down with clothing; a person will usually float briefly before sinking.

Unfortunately Rodney McKay had no control over the mechanism that made him inhale sharply as he fell into the ocean. Water was pulled straight into his lungs as his head rang with pain and the world swung about him. Despite his constant complaints off world, he was no longer the overweight couch potato he had been, buoyant fat had been transformed into heavy muscle, and he sank into the depths.

Coughing in a vain attempt to clear his lungs, he tried to orientate himself, to swim back to the surface. But his mind was hazy, and what he thought should be up was just a dark shadow above him. It was so cold and black, his muscles wouldn't obey him; his lungs heaved with effort, but would soon give up. He'd drown, like the other McKay. He hadn't been paranoid all these years, the universe really was out to get him.

Something bright shot past his flailing arm, then another, and another. He was in the middle of a cloud of stars, blurry lights in the dark. They were kind of - ow! What the hell, something just stung him!

The lights, they weren't beautiful, they were some kind of bioluminescent alien piranha! The pain woke his fading brain, he kicked out wildly! Goddamn glowfish wouldn't eat him! But it wasn't enough, his muscles convulsed as they begged for oxygen. The tiny pinpricks of pain weren't enough to keep him there after all. Doctor Rodney McKay, pioneer scientist on Atlantean technology: Expert, Genius, fish food. He never would make that mission.

So dark, so cold…damn…universe.

Then something wrapped around his waist and he was being pulled away from the glowing dark, up, up into a brighter light.

Maybe dying wasn't so bad after all.

* * *

Darkness, quiet, then a blurry blackness and someone shouting at him through the silence,

"Rodney! Wake up McKay! I didn't ruin my best shirt so you could goddamn die on me! Wake _up_!" The last word was emphasised with sudden pressure on his rib cage, Rodney coughed desperately and heaved.

"Yes!" the voice shouted triumphantly, someone rolled him onto his side and he threw up, water and more water till eventually, mercifully, he could breathe again and he lay there gasping.

"Easy, easy," the voice cautioned, he was on his back again. "Suddrick, get me a-thanks." Something light was draped over him, "Rodney? You with us?" he forced open reluctant eyes, squinting in the harsh light. Sheppard was leaning over him with an expression he could only describe as relief.

"Welcome back." The Colonel grinned, yep, definitely relief.

"Wha-" he coughed, tried again, "What happened."

"How about we get enroute and then cover my last near heart attack?" Rodney blinked again, light drilling into his paper-thin skull, only then realising he was staring up at the sky.

"What?" Sheppard frowned,

"Okay…let's get you inside." With the colonel's help, he was half pulled, half lifted to his feet, the only thing preventing him from collapsing to the floor (which he now realised was the door of the puddle jumper) was Sheppard's arm under his shoulders. Shaking, he let himself be dragged inside, away from the suddenly frightening ocean. "Come on, easy, there we go." The Colonel's voice was oddly soothing as his friend helped him sit down on the narrow bench at the back; before retrieving the thermo-blanket Rodney had dropped and wrapping it round his shoulders. "I'll be back, just have to speak to Suddrick. Keep an eye on him, okay Doctor Z?" Rodney forced his tired eyes open again to see Zelenka sitting against the wall holding a cloth to his forehead. The other scientist nodded tiredly as Sheppard went into the front of the 'Jumper, Rodney noticed the Colonel was drenched.

"Radek?"

"Rodney, are you okay? You-you- I thought you were dead."

"Dead? But I-what happened?"

"Suddrick did not hold ship steady. It moved, you fell and hit your head. Colonel Sheppard went in but could not find you…he had to surface twice." a pause, "You were down there a long time. We thought you had drowned."

"I did, I mean, I thought I had too, "he coughed, "There were lights, some kind of glowing fish." He shivered, " I think they were trying to eat me."

"Major Sheppard saw them, that is how he found you. You should thank the fish Rodney, they save your life."

"Yes, thank the nice fish for glowing whilst they try to eat me. Honestly Radek." He pulled the blanket tighter around himself. "How's your head?"

"Terrible. Yours?"

"Terrible." There was silence for a moment, punctuated only by the angry conversation at the front of the jumper. "What's going on over there?"

"Colonel Sheppard is very angry with Major Suddrick."

"What? Why?"

"He was unable to keep the 'jumper still, so you fell. Colonel Sheppard was very.…concerned."

"Concerned? What, he doesn't think I can hold my breath now? I'd have been out of there in a minute if I hadn't-"

"Rodney, you weren't breathing when he brought you up." Rodney froze, staring at his friend,

"What?"

"You were unconscious, Colonel Sheppard said you were not breathing. You had inhaled water, he tried to get it out your lungs, was about to start CPR when you coughed." the Czech explained softly, even kindly. Rodney couldn't move, "He was worried, we all were."

His head hurt, he was really tired, and he couldn't get his mind around this idea at the moment. He stared blankly at wall, before looking back at his friend.

"I eh, Thanks."

"Thank Colonel Sheppard, he saved you."

"I will. Radek?"

"Yes Rodney?"

"I'm, I'm kind of tired." His friend nodded, looking exhausted himself.

"Then sleep McKay. I will wake up before we get to Atlantis." Rodney nodded, leaning against the wall.

"Oh, and Zelenka?"

"Yes?"

"Next time we need to test something, let's send Kavanaugh, okay?" Radek smiled, too tired to laugh,

"It's deal McKay."

* * *

Haha! Will Rodney make it back to Atlantis in one piece? Can he avoid Carson when he gets there? At this point it might more beneficial to his health if he does, his lungs must be in a terrible state. More H/C moments coming up. Do you guys like the Sheppard/McKay stuff or the Radek/Rodney stuff more? And which other characters (besides Carson, I have plans for him) do you want to see?

Thanks for all the fantastic reviews :) I'm churning out these chapters as fast as possible I promise! Only one more exam to go and then it's only all the other stuff in my life to interfere with fic writing I know, some of you want me chained to this laptop, it won't happen! If you want more Rodneywhumping stand on your head, sing 'I'm a little teapot' and spin around six times, or leave a review :)


	10. 0805 Snark & the Other Side of the Story

He woke after what could only have been a few minutes, to Sheppard 'tapping' him (with more force than required) on the shoulder. "McKay? You awake?"

Fighting the urge to hit the irritating Colonel, not that his shaky muscles could have packed much of a punch right now, he managed a hoarse, "You think I could-" He coughed, "sleep through that? Of course I'm-" The colonel silently held out a bottle of water. "Oh, uh, thanks." He drank, savouring the cool liquid against his burning throat. The memories came flooding back. Electrocuting himself, crashing, hot, then cold cold water till-

"Whoa" He muttered, dropping the water bottle, which Sheppard hastily retrieved. "Did I-"

"Yep."

"But-"

"I know."

"How's-"

"He's fine. Sleeping."

"But he has a-"

"Yeah, Carson said it should be fine if we woke him every fifteen minutes."

"Carson!" Rodney made a gallant attempt to leap to his feet, only slightly spoiled by the swaying. "He's here?" He glanced frantically around the 'jumper' but all he could see were Bourne and Suddrick up front and Zelenka slumped against the other wall. The blessed view of Atlantis was coming onto the horizon.

"No." Sheppard pushed him back down to the bench as he lost his balance completely. "He's on Atlantis, like we will be soon. Will you calm down McKay? You already hit your head today, again might totally scramble those brains you're so proud of."

"But you told him what happened?"

"Yes!"

"Why?"

"McKay, you just fried yourself in a power converter and then nearly died in the Ocean. You don't think that kind of thing warrants a check up?"

"I-"

"Besides, Zelenka isn't looking so hot either." The Colonel continued, nodding at the other scientist. He took another look; Radek was pretty pale, a white bandage taped over a sizeable section of his forehead. Rodney's gaze flicked over the Colonel, he had a dry jacket on, but…

"Sheppard you look awful." He commented without preamble. The Colonel raised his eyebrows,

"Thank you Rodney. It was nice to save your life too."

"Yes, Thanks, but seriously…are you sure you're not getting hypothermia? That water is freezing you know. You could be in shock or-"

"McKay." The look on his friend's face shut him up. "You nearly died. Heck, for a minute we thought you _were_ dead."

"Yeah, I know." He shuffled uncomfortably.

"That doesn't bother you at all?"

"Well…yes! But it's not the first time. I mean, I've almost died several times since we got here. It's the price of being a genius."

"But there's a big difference between being in the control room waiting to be blown up, and your heart stopping."

"My, my heart stopped?" Sheppard shrugged,

"Maybe for a second. Mine did."

* * *

_He ran forward onto the 'deck', pulling off his jacket and boots. "I'm going in."_

"_But Colonel-!"_

"_Hold the damn ship steady Suddrick." He knew he was letting unprofessional hostility into his voice, and right now he didn't care. If McKay hadn't come up already then he wasn't coming up on his own, "I'll be right back." Without a further thought, he dived. _

_The coldness hit him like a sledgehammer, almost driving the air from his lungs. Every muscle contracted painfully and throbbed. His head broke the surface and he gasped for air. _

_**Rodney's down there.**_

_He took one final gulp of air, steeled himself, and went under._

_The deeper he went, the colder it got, his muscles were lead weights. It was dark too, so damned dark. McKay might think he was pretty bright but he wasn't glow-in-the-dark bright yet. Though if they kept up with the radiation exposure..._

_**He's down here, focus.**_

_But it was no good, he had no air left. He needed oxygen so badly his stomach was heaving with the pain, his muscles barely responsive, he kicked erratically and somehow made it to the surface._

_He'd drifted, the 'jumper was a good twenty metres away .Bourne stood on the 'bridge' waving at him anxiously, shouting something. He yelled hoarsely "Not g-got him yet! Back-back soon." He took a deep breath, and another,_

_Was there a chance in hell he'd find McKay before-?_

_**Since when did you ever care about chance?**_

_And he dived again. Back into the depths.

* * *

_

_It was just as dark as before, though the first shock of cold had worn off. Dimly he knew he was near hypothermia, if he wasn't already there. It didn't matter, he was either going up with Rodney in tow, or he wouldn't be going up. He wasn't losing another member of his team, not to the damn ocean of all things!_

_And then he saw it, through the ocean water, a glow; lots of them in fact. Pinpricks of light dancing around a blurry shadow._

_A McKay shaped blur. _

_Suddenly it didn't matter that he couldn't feel his feet. He didn't care that his lungs were almost imploding; that his head was spinning, all that mattered was that dark blob, and the tiny lights around it._

_It seemed like hours till he got there, every kick a monumental effort. 'This must be what space-walking feels like' an idle part of his mind considered. Then he remembered Rodney had been on an EVA he'd have to ask him- _

**_Hypothermia, focus._**

_He swam._

_His eyes burned with the effort of seeing through the black water. He reached out a semi-numb hand towards the shadow, barely feeling the tiny burns as the lights took offence to his presence. His fingers brushed something that could be fabric. The fabric of an SGA-1 jacket belonging to the most arrogant and obnoxious scientist in two universes and a couple of alternative realities._

_His friend._

_He wrapped an arm round the shadow and swam.

* * *

_

_He didn't know how they got back to the 'jumper. When they broke the surface he had to tow the completely unresponsive scientist the final fifty metres or so back, and he was already exhausted. But somehow theygot there; Zelenka was grabbing McKay and pulling him onto the 'Jumper, even as Bourne gave him a hand out. Once aboard, he half fell half knelt next to Rodney, dreading toconfirm what he already expected._

"_He's not breathing." the words left his mouth before he fully comprehended them. He froze for maybe an entire second and then training took over. This wasn't his friend; this was a person, a person with no respiration and water-filled lungs. ABC, A for airway, before he could get B for breathing. He had an obstructed airway, he had to clear it. _

"_Dammit Rodney!" He muttered aloud, rolling his friend over to let water out of his mouth, "if you make me give you mouth to mouth I swear I'll kill you!" He rolled him back, administering chests thrusts in an attempt to expel the water from the scientist's lungs. This wasn't working! Where was Carson_ _when you needed him? He was a soldier, not a medic! "Okay if he isn't breathing in another thirty seconds, it's time for CPR!" He half yelled at no one in particular. _

"_Rodney! Wake up McKay! I didn't ruin my best shirt so you could goddamn die on me! Wake up!" He pressed down with particular violence and was rewarded with a sudden cough from his friend, _

"_Yes!"

* * *

_

"Colonel?" Rodney rasped; his throat still like sandpaper. "Hate to interrupt your little daydream, but are you alright? Only if you're in shock you should tell Carson, you know how he enjoys his work." _And maybe he'd forget about me for a minute…_ Sheppard seemed to wake up from his trance, probably dreaming about hot aliens; and frowned before his face cleared in a familiar smirk.

"Rodney, I was five seconds from giving you mouth to mouth. Now I know that would be the most action you've seen since your little close-up with Carson, but for me the _thought_ of giving you the kiss of life is deeply traumatic!" Rodney bristled,

"Believe it or not Colonel, if it had come to that -" he broke off, coughing. When he'd finished, Sheppard was looking serious again.

"Anyway, Carson asked me to check on you, and to make you knew he'll be waiting in the 'jumper bay so not to 'bother trying to escape'." A grin crossed the Colonel's face, "You in trouble?"

"Oh…as much trouble as one can be when one is perfectly innocent." Sheppard raised his eyebrows. "I may have inadvertently avoided him in the course of my duties."

The Colonel whistled, "Well good luck. Because when Carson gets here, it's no holds barred!" His oh-so loyal friend flashed him another grin before making his way back to the cockpit,

"ETA two minutes!"

Two minutes….he could come up with an escape plan from an irate Scottish physician in two minutes, right?

He was doomed.

* * *

Sorry sorry sorry! And after all your fantastic reviews too! Computer trouble I'm afraid. But that's all sorted now. Chapters will appear as fast as I can write them. I decided to put a little Sheppard POV as we can get too much of a good thing with the Rodney perspective :) Besides, I'm a lifeguard and I like the whole near-drowning sequence ;)

Hey, if they can do the same thing twiceon TV (Rising and Before I sleep)I can do the same thing here!

So to hurry along the next chapter, bark like a goose, hum like a dog, and leave me ideas, comments, criticsim or general adoration ;) Thanks!


	11. 0815 Escape and more EST

The ship came to a steady halt as it settled into in the 'jumper bay. The gentle hiss as the engines powered down seemed unreasonably loud to Rodney's already throbbing head. He honestly couldn't remember ever being so tired before. Even including all the many, _many_ all-nighters he'd begun to see as standard since he came to Atlantis, let alone the siege when he'd stayed awake for days on end. Zelenka was still asleep, drooling in a most un-endearing manner.

"Open the door." Sheppard ordered sharply from the front of the 'jumper. McKay watched as Suddrick didn't even raise his head as his hands danced over the console. The hatch slid open even as Sheppard returned to the rear of the compartment.

"Let's get out of here." The Colonel suggested, tapping Radek on the shoulder, "Doctor Z? You with us?" his esteemed colleague groaned and muttered something incomprehensible. Sheppard frowned,

"That Czech?" Rodney shrugged,

"Sounded like nonsense to me. But then, so does most of-"

"McKay?" came a quiet murmur; he sat up straighter, peering over at his friend,

"Radek?"

"Stop talking please." Bourne sniggered, Rodney glared at him, but it was half-hearted at best. He was so damn tired.

"Come on Doc, up we go!" Sheppard hooked an arm under Zelenka's shoulders and hauled him to his feet, "Bourne, help McKay. Suddrick?"

"Sir?"

"Go report to Doctor Weir." Mortified, the Major slipped past. Rodney frowned a little. As gratifying as it would be to blame Suddrick for his little dip, holding a puddlejumper absolutely still was an incredibly difficult task. The damn thing jittered like a hoverfly. Besides, if he'd had his usual excellent balance instead of an already spinning head he wouldn't have fallen.

Probably.

He tried to give the Major a sympathetic '_isn't he an idiot' _look but was entirely possible he just grimaced. Either way, Suddick just raised his eyebrows before heading out of the 'jumper.

Sheppard followed the Major with Radek all but draped over him. Rodney closed his eyes for a second, leaning back against the 'jumper wall. The cool metal was blissful against his fevered skin. He'd get up in a minute…just a-

"Doctor?" He blinked sleepily. Bourne was looming over him, looking half-concerned, half-nervous. Sheppard must have been angry. "Do you need me to get a medic in here?"

"No!" He forced himself to his feet, swaying perhaps but he was up! "That won't be necessary thank you! My legs work perfectly-" his knees buckled slightly and he began to sink to the floor, "-fine" A hand gripped his arm and he was back on his feet, this time an arm round Bourne's shoulders. He blinked, trying to clear the fog from his head as the Lieutenant began to lead him out. "Umm thanks." He mumbled, ignoring Bourne's look of concern as he strove to contain the shivers which had begun again. With the Lieutenant's help he stumbled out of the 'jumper, prepared the face the wrath of the terrible entity known as Carson.

Who wasn't there…? Instead Bourne led him over to a waiting gurney with a nurse standing by. Radek was being wheeled out with Suddrick nowhere to be seen. Sheppard however was standing next to the nurse, probably checking her out. You'd think two ascended chicks would be enough for the guy! Did he have to nab all the girlson this plane of existencetoo?

Sheppard interrupted his thoughts, "Looks like you got lucky McKay. Carson had to go down to the gym, apparently someone dislocated their shoulder. But don't worry; he promised he'll be waiting for you." The nurse rolled her eyes; Sheppard just grinned and patted the gurney, "So what are you waiting for McKay? Hop up."

"W-w-wait!" Rodney pulled away from Bourne's supporting arm. If he was being wheeled to the infirmary how would he escape? Some more coherent part of his brain argued he was being foolish. He was injured, ill, and more than a little exhausted. He would be better off facing the music with Carson than carrying on like this. There was no chance any self-respecting _witch_ doctor would pass him to go on the mission today; if he was honest with himself, he wouldn't blame them.

But still, he wasn't feeling logical. He was really getting pissed off with the universe in general. He'd been through a lot that morning; all for the good of Atlantis he might add, and the last thing he felt like doing was being scolding like a little child.

And now everyone was staring at him.

He cleared his throat, trying not to sway on his feet as he protested defiantly, "I can _walk_, I'm not completely infirm I'll have you know. Though if the food gets much worse around here-"

"McKay-"

"I won't be responsible for-"

"MCKAY!" He shut up. Sheppard looked at the nurse,

"How 'bout I walk McKay down there." She looked doubtful, "We'll be there in five minutes, tops." The medic glanced in his direction, sizing him up no doubt. He froze, every muscle tense in the effort _not _to fall over. Finally she sighed.

"Five minutes?"

"Five minutes." Sheppard assured her.

"Okay…but if he has any dizzy spells, or loses consciousness, call the infirmary right away."

"_He_ is standing right here!" Rodney groused, the nurse simply gave him an exasperated glance before heading for the door, Bourne following with the gurney.

And then it was him and Sheppard.

"Sooo McKay. What's with the sudden aversion to catching a ride? Usually you'll do anything to avoid walking." Rodney closed his eyes briefly, not realising he was swaying again till Sheppard suddenly put a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"Easy." The Colonel cautioned. "Let's get to the infirmary eh? I bet the Doc'll be pleased to see you." At the mention of Carson, the Colonel grinned. "So why the sudden urge to walk? Trying to stave off the Doc? Because I have to tell you, it's never worked for me." They left the 'jumper bay, Rodney concentrated on putting one foot firmly in front of the other. How to escape?

"I thought it might be helpful to dry off first. Never liked swimming, gives you a chill." He replied finally. An idea struck him, "In fact I'm going to my quarters first. Have a hot shower, always does the trick."

"Rodney, you're not going to your quarters."

"What, I can't take a shower now? Who are you, the anti-mother?"

"You can take a shower when Carson's checked you out."

"Oh please, I swear the man gets some kind of thrill out of ordering bed baths."

"Shy McKay?"

"There are some things Colonel, a man should be allowed to keep to himself."

"Too bad Cadman didn't let you then."

"Can you stop bringing that up?"

"No." Rodney was about to retort when he realised they had stopped. Outside his quarters.

"Colonel?"

"McKay."

"We're…um"

"Outside your quarters, yes. Want to let us in?"

"Us?"

"You don't think you're escaping that easily do you? Open the door." Confused, Rodney put his palm against the scanner, the doors sliding open. So star-trekish, he would never stop loving that. Sheppard followed him inside, pointing at the bathroom door. "Five minutes, I'm coming in. So if you do want to keep things to yourself, I suggest you get a move on." Rodney was about to protest before noticing the expression on the Colonel's face. It suddenly struck him that Sheppard had been in the crash too and must be hurting, not to mention he'd also taken a little dip. He was probably longing for a rest too.

"Fine." He agreed, albeit reluctantly. "But no going through my desk. Top secret research projects and all."

"Your collection of trading cards? Don't worry McKay; your secret is safe with me." If only looks could kill. He collected a fresh uniform and left the Colonel making himself at home, his booted feet on the desk no less. Did the man have no decorum?

In the bathroom, he looked about for a means of escape. And came up with….nothing. If he had a toolkit he could pry a few panels off the floor and maybe escape through the conduits below. But he hadn't counted on Sheppard following him in, and the Colonel would probably hear any escape attempts anyway.

With nothing else to do, he took a shower.

* * *

Ten minutes or so later, he left the bathroom in fresh clothes; looking, if not feeling, much better. If he didn't move his head much the dizziness subsided, and at least the bone-deep shivers were gone. If he had to face Carson, at least he wouldn't fall over or similarly embarrass himself.

"Made yourself at home Colonel?" he enquired with more energy than he felt, the Colonel didn't stir.

"Colonel?" He walked round to face him, only to find Sheppard fast asleep in his chair.

"Sleeping? I thought you military types were supposed to be good at staying awake?" He muttered, "I mean, hello! Injured man here, what if I-" He froze.

Sheppard was asleep. The door was over there. He could just go andget on with his day. Sure, Carson would catch up with him eventually, but maybe he'd be okay by then. It was possible, right?

Possible, yeah right.

With only a little guilt at leaving Sheppard to face Carson's inevitable wrath, he slipped out the door.

* * *

He headed straight down to the labs, testing on the new weapon was due to begin in twenty minutes but most of the science team was already at work. They looked up briefly when he entered, acknowledging his presence with a 'Good Morning Doctor' or a nod before returning to their business. He did a brief round, reassigning tasks and correcting errors before getting on with his own work.

The weapon was a work of genius, (obviously it was his idea). Currently the best they could do was shoot as many rounds as possible into a Wraith and hope it ran out of life before they ran out of bullets. Very inefficient, not to mention life threatening. Their weapon was something else.

The 'gun' would fire a small device into the Wraith with all the force of a bullet. Instead of simply passing through however, the device would implant itself in the Wraith's body, several electric tendrils would then cause shocks throughout its nervous system. The more the Wraith moved, the more intense the shocks. The result would be pain, and eventually paralysis, the entire nervous system shutting down. Whilst it might take a few minutes to actually kill a Wraith, it would disable them almost instantly. Giving its erstwhile victims ample time to flee.

Or, you know, fire.

* * *

An hour later things were proceeding well. The actual device was almost complete. It just needed adjusting in order to strengthen the shocks being emitted before being implanted into the 'bullet' container.

Rodney was studying the energy output readings when it happened. Ford of all people had come in. Being one of the most qualified weapon experts on base (at twenty five, how? The man was practically a teenager) Dr Ronsell had wanted his advice on the firing mechanism for the device. Ford was of course unable to resisttaking a look atthe actual 'bullet' as well as the gun mechanism.

"So this thing can kill a Wraith?"

"Yes Lieutenant, that's the idea." Rodney had little patience His head hurt terribly and he felt nauseous again. Ford had obviously never learnt to see with his eyes, not with his hands however, and had actually _picked up_ the device, with his hands in his sleeves!

"Lieutenant will you put that down!" He snapped,

"Afraid I'll break it?"

"It's a highly charged electronic device designed to paralyse an alien nervous system. Shockingly enough I'm more worried about the damage it could do to you."

"Aw thanks Doc." Ford smirked, _still_ not putting the device down, "I'm sure that-" and his sleeve slipped, his hand brushing against the device.

"Ford!" McKay lunged for him, the damned device implanted so fast and if it did…he knocked the Lieutenant's arm away-

Ninety nine times in a hundred the device would have fallen harmlessly to the floor. It hadn't been in real contact with Ford's skin, not enough to attach at any rate. And even if it had hit Rodney when falling, his arms were usually covered in his SGA jacket, the same jacket that was destroyed in the ocean earlier. His arms were uncovered save for his short sleeved blue shirt.

As the device was knocked from Ford's hand, it hit his bare arm, just long enough to dig red-hot tendrils into his skin. A cold sensation ran through him like ice down his spine, before every muscle in his body seized up in agony.

He felt curiously detached as people began to gather round him, catching him as he fell, yelling things he couldn't hear. He really was going to die. From his own creation no less. It was oddly appropriate in a terrifying kind of way. Death because of his own genius.

At least he'd be in good company, didn't all mad scientists die this way?

* * *

Sorry! So long without a chapter! As a reward for your patience and the many lovely reviews, I've made this chapter longer than usual :) You guys are so great. Anyone know where a girl can get a beta? I hate betaing my own stuff! I'm hardly impartial!

Anyway, to see more Rodney whumping, h/c moments, and soon, scottish fury as only Carson can vent, do the 'chicken tonight' dance or leave me a review :)

Carson is only getting madder, but I'll hide him away if no one reviews ;)


	12. 1030 Ford?

The odd thing about dying was that it didn't hurt much.

Well, not to understate matters, it hurt like hell at first. But the human body is incapable of sustaining that level of sensation for long. The pain fades into the background, leaving instead a terrible frozen feeling. It wasn't that he couldn't move; _au contraire_ he moved very much—spasmodic jerky tremors, every muscle twitching, convulsing. It was just that, after due consideration, he really, really rather wouldn't have.

But the pain? Still there.

Rodney wasn't really sure what was happening. There was a lot of yelling going on, but no one was actually _doing_ anything. That was fine—doing something might involve moving, and he got the idea that moving would be a very bad idea right about now. If he relaxed as much as possible, the shocks were bearable. Just.

"We shouldn't move him! Who knows what that could trigger? This is an untested piece of technology!"

"Shouldn't we call the infirmary?"

"What can they possibly do?"

Oh God, where was Radek when he needed him! The Czech might not be as smart as himself, but he would _do_ something. God, he was going to die. God oh God oh God oh— Ah!

Someone picked him up and swung him casually over his shoulder. Ford, of course. He'd help—

_Like he helped before. Ford with a gun, aiming, firing_—

What? That never . . .

_Ford hyped up on enzyme, crazed—_

Wraith enzyme? Yes that happened, but surely . . .

_Ford escaping onto a wraith dart. Returning home with Sheppard, convinced Ford had lost it._

Ford . . . wasn't here.

So who was currently carrying him through the halls?

Oh damn. This wasn't good.

Rodney tried to yell something, call someone, reach his radio. But the rapidly worsening shocks made any kind of coordination or speech beyond a few grunts impossible. And they were heading away from the labs, away from the populated area of the city. The pain was quickly increasing; soon his lungs would go into spasms, he'd be unable to breathe, and his heart . . . and oh God oh God oh God, he was going to die and—

Oh!

They'd stopped. Ford (or whoever he was) opened the door to a room, no, not a room . . . a supply closet? He was being dumped and left to die in a supply closet? How inane was that! If he was going to die, you'd think any self respecting Ford imposter would find something more dignified to dump a scientist in than a supply closet! At least when Ford threatened to shoot him, he had been hanging upside from a tree. No more elegant perhaps, but if he had to go, at least that would have been memorable. A supply closet? Like some corny detective drama extra? Sheppard was never going to let his live this down!

Oh . . . How ironic. His internal rant came to an abrupt halt as the "Lieutenant" shrugged him off his shoulder and dumped him on the floor. The movement set off a new series of shocks across his midsection, and he tried to clutch at the pain his stomach but his convulsing arms were useless. "Ford" stood over him, looking impassive.

Ford never looked impassive.

"Who . . ." He wheezed, every last bit of effort concentrated on forming words, "Who . . . you?"

Damn it. The alien—whatever it was—laughed. Ford's laugh.

"What's up, McKay, don't recognize your old buddy?"

Actually, no . . . it was coming back. Ford after he was attacked by the wraith. The right eye totally eclipsed, the pupil dilated beyond limits. This Ford looked normal, looked exactly like the chatty, enthusiastic lieutenant who had come to Atlantis. Looked exactly like the Ford who had saved his life time and time again.

He really missed that Ford.

"Who . . . you?" he managed again. He wanted to shut his eyes, but even that was impossible. "Ford" smiled, teeth glinting coldly. He'd seen that expression before . . . on Koyla, right before he let the soldier—

No. Not going into that now.

"Who am I? Not buying it, then, huh. We didn't think you would for long."

_We? _

"I saw you earlier today, but you weren't looking so hot. Still don't, in fact. Having problems?"

The impostor cocked his head and grinned. Rodney couldn't stand it. "Go to Hell!" He gasped.

"But I thought you wanted answers. I really don't mind if you do. But then, I don't care if you don't. And I am on a schedule; the wave of influence will fade eventually and I really have to get going before then." "Ford" laughed again.

Despite the increasing pain, McKay was curious. Yes, curious—an unfortunately large part of his personality and one apt to get him into trouble, as he was constantly reminded. Curiosity killed the cat, and all that.

Hey, he was a poet and didn't know it.

God, that wasn't even funny, but a chuckle burst from him all the same, the spasms in his stomach killing him even as he laughed, the sound more than a little hysterical.

"Ford" just stared at him.

"Who . . . why you here?" Rodney finally managed, curled now into a loose ball, the device on his arm blinking red in a truly obnoxious fashion.

"As I said, we met earlier today. But you may not have recognized me, as my true form is a little . . . different." The voice, the mannerisms, all Ford's. "I think you called us 'glowing fish'."

Oh God. "You're­­ . . . you're them?"

"Yeah, McKay, didn't you think we were cool? And no, I didn't read your mind. But I could hear you and Doctor Z in the 'jumper. I snuck into your jacket as Colonel Sheppard pulled you out."

"Why?"

"Curiosity. Fear. No one's been around in the longest time. And while we can't read your mind, we can get impressions, sense strong feelings, even memories if they're pretty powerful. When you fell into us, we sensed your fear, and yes, we got anger, too. Then Major, sorry, Colonel Sheppard? We felt him too. More fear, more anger. It . . . well, made us edgy, Doc." "Ford" shook his head. "So we thought we'd better check you guys out, see if you were a threat. And guess what? Within an hour, not only were you in Atlantis, a place which sure as heck isn't yours, but I see you making weapons! In a lab that isn't yours, using technology beyond your understanding! So I'm sure you can understand if my view of humanity is a little negative right now!"

"Ford's" eyes narrowed, becoming even darker; did small glowy things get angry? First rule of meeting new alien life forms: do _not_ piss them off.

"But me? Really b-bad example."

"Ford" shook his head again. "Nice try, McKay, but I took a stroll round Atlantis. All over the place your people are infesting it, infecting it, and everyone's angry. Not to mention violent."

"We're not ­. . . violent!"

"Violence. Hatred. That was what I felt. And that kind of emotion is unacceptable Doc." The creature frowned. "So now I have to decide what I'm gonna do about it."

Second rule: do not, repeat, do _not_ interrupt evil alien glow fish when it's explaining its maniacal scheme to satisfy curiosity.

"Why Ford? How . . . fool us?" He really should listen to his own advice.

"That was the easy part. See, when you've been living in the water as long as we have, you get used to the stuff. We can use it to form pretty much any kind of body we want. It's just a matter of rearrangement."

"Rearrangement?"

"Nothing you could understand, mind you. We're kind of above you in the whole comprehension thing. And as for the whole "Ford" thing, it was a strong memory. I mean, you wanted to see the guy again; it was easy to trick your mind into that whole "suspension of disbelief" thing. You forget what you want to forget. And we can help that along by transmitting waves of what you call emotion. Feelings, consciousness. It's all just energy, Doc! The right kind of energy wave and everyone on Atlantis trusts good old Lieutenant Ford." He chuckled. "Your minds are so simple, so selfish compared to our limitless consciousness."

Rodney stared at the face of his friend, so familiar, so strange. He was so tired, even the spasms were slowing. Breathing was hard. "What . . . are you?"

"Ford" smiled. "Nothing you can imagine, McKay. But don't worry, you won't have to. I've answered enough of your questions; now I have work to do."

"What—"

"Don't worry, Doc, I won't hurt the city. Unlike you, I really like the place. But your people may have to go. You're too primitive. But no hard feelings, right?" The . . . _thing_—he refused to think of the glowy fish as Ford—stepped backward. "Goodbye, McKay. I doubt you'll last long in any case, but at least you'll die with some of those answers you love so much."

Rodney struggled, his words more air than voice. "Why even . . . give me that? Gonna . . . kill anyway"

"Ford" raised his eyebrows. "Because you were curious. Gotta give a guy credit for asking, don't I?" But as the door of the closet slid shut, Rodney swore he saw a hint of uncertainty on the alien's face.

Rodney struggled for air, for breath, but he was exhausted. The world was fading. Atlantis was under attack by a glowing fish posing as a lieutenant; his friends didn't even know they were in danger; and the answer man, who only had some of the answers this time, was choking to death in a storeroom. Next time people came here, maybe in a few centuries, Atlantis would have one more skeleton in its already teeming closet.

And that pun was so bad, maybe he deserved to die.

* * *

Hey! THanks for all the fantastic reviews. And the offers! I have a beta now, the lovely Rachel who is fantastic and found no less than 807 mistakes in this chapter (oops :P) and helped me loads. Story is now moving on from a gratuitious PWP Rodney whumping (Though don't worry, plenty of that to come) and actually has a plotline.

You know, sort of.

If you want more, sing me a song, leave me a review and thank the Saints for Betas :)


	13. 1050 Help please?

It was so dark. Coffin-like. He couldn't see the walls of the supply closet, but he knew they were there. Did these things have ventilation shafts? How much air could they hold? Two hours? Three? Maybe he was already running out; he was breathing pretty heavily. God, he was going to suffocate . . . his lungs were in spasm, electric shocks were still running through his body; his chest was going to explode . . .

And nothing happened.

He didn't die. He didn't pass out. The pain didn't get worse. It hurt like hell, no question about that, but there was still air in his lungs and maybe, just maybe, the shocks weren't quite as bad.

Was he going to live?

He thought as fast as his dizzy mind could manage. They'd been performing tests on the weapon's power levels. He and Dr. Zahn had been arguing about how strong the shocks needed to be. Zahn thought they were sufficient to paralyze a Wraith at the current settings. Rodney had disagreed.

"_Look, I've seen these things still standing with twenty bullets in them. Believe me, if you want to do anything more than tickle them, you need to up the voltage!"_

Not that his fellow scientist had agreed. After a heated argument Rodney, had consented to take a look at the readings for the weapon at its current level. Unfortunately, "Ford" had chosen that moment to begin messing around with the device. He hadn't had time to study the information properly.

Now he had to hope more desperately than ever before. Hope that the laws of probability proved true; that he had been correct and Dr. Zahn was an idiot who had grossly miscalculated. Hope that the device on his hand would incapacitate a human, not kill one.

Hope that if there was a God, he was on Rodney's side today.

Minutes passed and still he didn't die. The shocks weren't gone, but they grew no worse. Maybe he really was going to make it . . .

But lying around in a closet wasn't doing him any good. He was approaching exhaustion and really needed to get this thing off of him. And for that he needed help. Come on McKay . . . to get help you need to attract attention. To get attention you need . . .

Sound! His radio! He tentatively reached a hand toward his earpiece. After several failed attempts, his arm hit him over the head, leaving him a nice bruise and sending his radio spinning across the floor.

"Damn." He grunted, and then froze. His voice, his voice was . . . if not back, at least visiting. If he could shout loud enough, maybe there was a chance, the slightest chance that someone would hear. The closet door was thick but not blast door thick. It was a disused part of the city, but people still walked through here sometimes. Okay, so there wasn't a good chance. This wasn't even a "maybe." It was a "possibly" at best. Still . . .

Rodney McKay took a deep, stuttering breath and focused every cell of his brilliant mind on screaming like a little girl.

* * *

He yelled for hours, or so it seemed. His voice was reluctant, fading out intermittently and leaving him gasping. Nor did his shouts for help seem very loud. He thought he'd heard the fast tapping of footsteps a while ago, but it was all wishful thinking—the door remained closed. And the whole time, electricity was running through his muscles, forcing them into spasms and cramping them painfully. The device didn't need a higher voltage to kill him; if he lost consciousness before it was removed, he wouldn't wake up. His body simply couldn't stand up to much more of this.

And already he was drifting, not for the first time that day, but probably the last. Shame he would die with his IQ at its lowest point ever. Probably already down to Ronon's level. Ronon . . . Conan. That was a good one. He should try it some time. Or had he? There was a weird sound somewhere far off.

"Down here!"

Surely not, Ronan would have killed him. If someone explained who Conan was, of course. Had the giant troll even seen a TV before? He must have by now.

"There is nothing here, Doctor."

What was that?

"But I heard it! Someone was yelling."

Was that Kavanaugh? God had a twisted sense of humor.

"And if someone is here, I must insist— Doctor Weir promised that this section would be out of bounds to all personnel for the next week. I have some vital experiments to conduct that mustn't . . ."

Kavanaugh or not, it was his only chance. He opened his mouth to yell.

And nothing happened.

He gasped frantically, but it was no good; his voice was gone again. Oh, this was just not right! He'd been yelling for ages and no one had heard. Now someone was here, something had actually worked for once, and he was about as loud as a day-old kitten.

And the voices were getting quieter. He had to do something, anything! In his panicked struggle, the device sent out a particularly painful round of shocks that had him curling against the wall, and his head slammed against a shelf.

A clatter echoed in the silence.

He stared at the door. His head throbbed dully, but the pain didn't matter. He prayed to any deity who was listening to grant him this one thing, a little co-ordination. Let those classes with Sheppard and Teyla prove to be worth something.

His leg lashed out and hit the door with a bang. It wouldn't go through, of course, but it might be enough to attract attention.

He kicked out again, a vicious cramp in his calf making him gasp, but he refused to stop. He kicked again, and again, and again—

And then the door was open and his leg hit something else. Unable to balance, he toppled over on the floor, landing on his back. The wind knocked out of him, all he could do was stare upwards, blinking in the sudden light. Whatever or whoever he had hit was shouting, jumping about clutching their leg, but Rodney didn't notice. He had eyes only for the beautiful face leaning over him, brow furrowed in concern. He tried his voice again.

"Hey, Teyla."

* * *

Of course you'd think that would be the end of it. Someone would take the device off, the shocks would stop, and the story would end to some inanely cheerful soundtrack.

How he missed TV.

But of course, real life, especially _his _life, didn't work like that. Which would explain why five minutes later, he was propped up against the wall no better off then he had been in the damn supply closet! At least he'd had some peace and quiet in there. Now he had to sit and listen to Kavanaugh whine and Teyla urge him to _do _something (he'd always liked her).

"You should remove it immediately!"

"If I do, it could emit a massive shock. Now, while I'm sure it would do nothing but good for the rest of Atlantis, I doubt McKay wants to be a gibbering vegetable for the rest of his life when his brain shorts out!"

Damn Kavanaugh, like he was winning the Mr. Personality award at the moment. He certainly wasn't getting anywhere in the brains department, the jealous son of a—

"If you cannot remove it, you must find someone who can! Fetch Dr Zelenka."

"Me? But I—"

"Now, Doctor." Teyla used one of her glares of death, the one capable of making a Wraith wince, and it was more than enough to get the ponytailed loser to his feet and half running, half stumbling down the corridor.

Thank God for Teyla.

The Athosian knelt beside him. "Teyla," he gasped pitifully. She nodded, eyes meeting his in a reassuring gaze.

"Dr McKay, I—" She broke off as a particularly strong convulsion racked him. He tried to breathe, but every muscle in his body was iron. It seemed like forever until the shock subsided and he could gulp in much needed oxygen. He didn't realize until it was over that Teyla's hand was on his shoulder, offering silent support.

"What can I do?" She asked simply.

"G-get this thing o-off me." He coughed. He didn't have much time and he _had_ to tell them about Ford. Well, the thing pretending to be Ford.

"Dr Kavanaugh—"

"—is an idiot. G-get it off, p-please!" It was a symbol of the trust their team shared that Teyla did not hesitate, immediately reaching for his shaking hand. He'd feared that after his little mishap resulting in the destruction of two thirds (okay, five sixths) of a solar system that he'd lost that trust forever. Perhaps he had finally earned it back. And maybe there was something else he could do to prove himself worthy again. "Wait!" He managed, and Teyla froze.

"Rodney?"

"F-Ford, gonna destroy . . . destroy Atlantis. I mean, not Ford, but glowy, th-thing. Looks like F-Ford."

"Rodney, Lieutenant Ford is—"

"I know" He couldn't explain like this, he needed, he _needed _air. "J-just do it." Teyla nodded, her gaze wonderfully serene, and Rodney closed his eyes and prepared . . . for what he wasn't sure.

Then there was great pain, a vivid light, and he fell into nothingness.

* * *

He woke up on the floor with Teyla leaning over him.

"Rodney?" She was saying, her soothing voice a little anxious now. She wanted a response. But he was so tired, and the pain was incredible; he felt burnt right down to his DNA. Still . . . there was something important, he needed to say someth—

"Ford!" he gasped, not aware he'd spoken aloud until his eyes opened of their own accord. His teammate's forehead furrowed.

"Dr. McKay, I believe you are confused. As I said, Lieutenant Ford is—"

"Not here, I know." He sat up with considerable effort, leaning against the wall gratefully. He dared a look at his hand; a vivid red mark remained, but nothing more. All in all, he'd got off pretty lightly. And now both his hands were burned. Maybe he'd get some time off for this.

"Rodney?" Oh . . . had he trailed off mid-explanation? That wasn't like him. He liked explaining things. In fact that's why he— right. Not the point. What was wrong with him!

Oh yeah, electrocution, among other things. Right, Ford.

"Yes . . . Ford is here. At least, something that looks like him." Now that he had Teyla's attention, he stammered out a clumsy summary of his conversation with "Ford." But then he had to go back and explain about the shield test and the glowing fish. Throughout the conversation, Teyla's eyebrows climbed higher and higher. When he had finished, they sat in silence for a minute.

"So one of these . . . creatures has taken the form of Lieutenant Ford?"

"In order to destroy us, yes. They have some insane attachment to Atlantis. They think we're "infecting" it somehow. Crazy, huh?"

A pause, "Yes. Crazy."

He turned suspiciously to look at her, aching muscles protesting at the movement. "You don't believe me?"

"I . . . just find it hard to comprehend."

He sniffed, slightly amused. Maybe he was over exaggerating the trust thing. They sat there.

"We should report to the control room. No doubt Doctor Weir will wish to hear your story."

"I suppose." Neither of them moved. "Teyla?"

"Doctor McKay?"

"You know, Kavanaugh is going to be wandering around for a while. Radek's in the infirmary."

"I am aware. However, he was being most unhelpful. I determined it would be best if he was no longer present."

Rodney smiled. "You never said a truer word."

Then the lights went out.

* * *

Ooo what's happening now? Did he pass out again? Did Atlantis blow up? Or did a fuse just go? I have actually (sort of) written a plot line out now. Scary I know. My dear beta has found lots of holes in it which I am attempting to patch up with paper and blue tac. Anyone got some sellotape?

So, as people are adverse to the singing thing just hop round in a circle three times clockwise and once anticlockwise and of course, leave me a review after the beep. I'll getback to you as soon as I can :)

Beep.


	14. 1120 Defence Training?

"Oh, well that's just great!" Rodney yelled at nothing and no one in particular. "I mean, why not? Everything else has gone wrong today!"

"Rodney!" Teyla was beside him still, her hand squeezing his arm. "You must be quiet!"

"But—"

"Shh!" Silence. All he could hear was his own heartbeat, thundering painfully in his ears. Teyla didn't even seem to breathe. Minutes passed. Nothing but black.

Finally the hand on his arm relaxed and vanished. The next time Teyla spoke, her voice came from above him. She'd stood up. "I believe it is safe to speak."

"Oh. Good." Silence again. "We, umm, should probably find out why all the lights went out."

"Do you have a radio?"

"Yes. At least, I did. It's on the floor in the cupboard . . . somewhere." He heard a shuffling somewhere to his right. Teyla was looking for it. He really should help her, but he was so tired. So very, very, t—

"Dr Weir? Colonel Sheppard? This is Telya. Can anyone hear me?" Whoa, that was fast! He opened his eyes again, more out of habit than any actual use. Wait . . . when had he shut them? And when did Teyla find the radio?

"Hello? Is anyone there?" The frustration in her tone was evident. "It is not working!"

"Give it here." He told her absently. Only when the radio was pressed into his hand did he realize he had no way of finding out what the problem was, let alone fixing it in the dark. He lifted it to his ear and tried half-heartedly, "This is McKay, is anyone receiving this? Only it'd be so helpful if you were!" Nothing, not even static. The thing was bust. So probably not a good idea to throw radios on the floor. "Dammit."

"We should leave. If the city is in danger we cannot help from here. We should try to return to the control room."

"No." He could almost _see_ Teyla's frustrated look.

"I understand you are injured Rodney, however—"

"No, that's not what I mean. Look, the naquadah generator that powers this section of Atlantis isn't far. It's a lot closer than the control room. And if the entire section is powered down, which I imagine it is, then the problem is probably there."

"So we should first attempt to fix the generator ourselves."

"Right. But to do that we need to get there, and I can't see a thing."

"I will lead us there if you can tell me its location. I know the city well." Of course she did. She was the Xena of Pegasus. Xena with better hair.

"You know corridor thirty two on the east side?" She nodded. "Third room along. Can you get us there from here?"

"I will." She replied simply. "Can you walk?"

"I guess we'll see." He smiled tightly, knowing she wouldn't see it in the dark, and forced unwilling legs into a crouch before he actually attempted to stand. Pain. Lots and lots of pain. But not the bone-splitting cramps of before, so he leaned against the wall and shoved to his feet.

Something exploded in Rodney's stomach and he bent over double. His breathing sounded like a train in the utter silence of the corridor and he couldn't quite repress a whimper. "Rodney? Rodney? What is wrong?" Teyla asked urgently, a supportive arm round his shoulders, but he had no breath to answer her. Every part of him was focused on the terrible fire in his stomach. He took a deep breath and forced it out. And again. Eventually the burning faded, reduced to a smoldering red band around his midsection. One more deep breath and he cautiously straightened. There was a sharp twinge, but the terrible agony didn't return.

"Sorry . . . stitch." He offered to Teyla in explanation, surprised at how tired his voice sounded. She probably nodded, but said nothing more as she gently pulled him on into the dark.

* * *

They actually got there pretty fast. Teyla was as good as her word. _He_ was the main problem, making them stop no less than three times so that he could catch his breath and work various cramps out of his abused muscles. Today was really not going so well. Should have just stayed in bed, or even gone to the infirmary. If Carson had locked him up in there maybe he wouldn't have managed to find psychotic glowing fish and bring one back to Atlantis. Or, you know, get drowned, electrocuted, poisoned, shot . . .

"We are here." Teyla's soft voice was unnaturally loud in the dead city. There was light coming from under the door. Of course, that room had a balcony that looked onto the ocean. He could actually see a little now, but the total silence was still unnerving.

Except . . . it wasn't so silent. There was a quiet tap tap tap of keys from inside the room. Someone was in there already. But who? Teyla was a silent shadow beside him, pointing to the door, _Can you open that?_

Rodney nodded briefly, removing the door panel to expose the mechanism beneath. Halfway through, he froze. What were they doing? If it was fish-Ford in there (he _would not_ call him Ford), then they needed weapons, military, more guns! Not a half dead astrophysicist and an unarmed Athosian, tough though she may be.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" He whispered, and even in the dim darkness, the look she gave him was unmistakable. "Just checking!" He pulled the emergency release.

The door slid open and blinding light poured into the corridor. Rodney hid his eyes even as he heard Teyla spring forward. There was a scuffle, a sharp shriek that was too high pitched to be a male of any species. He blinked frantically, trying to adjust to the glaring daylight after the total darkness.

When his vision cleared, he stared in shock at the scene before him.

* * *

On the floor, eyes wide with terror and gasping like a landed fish, Kavanaugh didn't even try to fight Teyla's death grip on his jacket. The Athosian looked more than a little confused, but didn't seem inclined to release him.

"Doctor Kavanaugh?" The Doctor just continued to gape at her, exactly like a fish. A fish! He burst into laughter—relieved, slightly hysterical laughter that had him doubled over again when his still-sore stomach muscles reminded him that laughing wasn't a good idea right now. He gasped in pain, his laughter closer to sobs than amusement now, and was only dimly aware that Teyla was by his side again.

"Are you unwell?" She asked quietly, cutting through the hysteria. He took a long deep breath in an effort to calm himself and shook his head.

"I'm fine," he managed. "What . . . are you doing here, Kavanaugh?"

"Me? What am _I _doing here! I simply decided it would be a good idea if someone fixed the city while you were throwing fits in closets! And what happens? I'm attacked! Don't think that I won't report this—"

"Oh shut _up!_" Rodney interrupted, amused to see the fish-look on Kavanaugh's face again. "We have bigger problems. What's wrong with the generator?"

"I . . . I . . . how do you expect me—"

"Forget it, I'll figure it out myself." Rodney made his way over to the generator. God, his legs hurt. He must be walking like a penguin. Focus, focus, it could be worse. Kavanaugh walked like he had a stick up his— Hello!

"It's totally dead." He turned to his "colleague." "Did you try to deactivate it?"

"No! I told you, I didn't have anything to do with this. I—"

"Well, someone has not only completely disconnected it from Atlantis, but the entire generator has been turned off. And most interesting of all, it's producing no radiation whatsoever.."

"None? How can that be? Naquadah is highly radioactive, you can't just switch it off!"

"Not normally no. But see this? Either these readings are completely wrong or there is no radiation being produced."

"Doctors." Teyla's voice echoed from the balcony where she was looking over into the ocean. "We must leave now."

"What? But we have to—" Teyla turned to him, her face ashen in the harsh sunlight.

"It is too late to fix the generator. We must go before—" She cut herself off. Rodney forced his stiff legs into a jog over to the balcony, and Kavanaugh followed. A mere ten feet below them, standing on the floor of one of Atlantis's many sea-level platforms, was the familiar form of Lieutenant Adien Ford, staring up at them with dark eyes.

Rodney stared at the alien wearing his friend's face. "Kavanaugh, go." He ordered, not taking his eyes off Fish-Ford.

"But I—"

"Go. Get Sheppard, Lorne; just get someone with a gun down here. GO!" His command was followed by the sound of shoes scampering over the hard floor. "Teyla . . ."

"What should we do?"

"I need to try to get the generator back online. Can you . . . ?"

"I will protect you." Her tone was so steady, so calm. Why couldn't he face danger and death like that?

Oh yeah, he wasn't that brave.

"Be quick, Dr. McKay."

"Okay, going." He sprinted to the generator, stiffness forgotten now. If he didn't get it back online, then they'd have no power in this section of the city. No lights, no transporters, and worst of all, no sensors. Fish-Ford would be able to do whatever he wanted.

If he couldn't already.

Rodney's back was to the balcony but he heard the dull thud of someone climbing over the barrier. Every cell in his body wanted to turn around and run, but he couldn't. He wouldn't. He had to make the generator work again, but what was wrong with it?

"Who are you?" He heard Teyla ask him. Was he even a him? Did glowing fish have genders? "And why do you pretend to be our friend?"

"I took this form because it was the clearest to us. Changing it would be a waste of energy. It is unnecessary. Who are you?"

"I am Teyla Emmagen, daughter of Tughan." She was so proud of that, was it like a Klingon thing? "You have injured my friend and threatened our city."

"_Your_ city?" Fish-Ford's words rang with scorn. "A city that was here for many an age before your kind even existed? A city that you pollute with your hatred and anger and violence? _Yours_?"

"The city may have been here before us, but we are here now. And we will defend ourselves and Atlantis if need be."

"You, defend Atlantis?" The voice was quiet, but even more menacing now, and Rodney had to strain to catch the words even as he tried to fix the goddamned generator. "No, Teyla Emmagen, daughter of Tughan. We're the ones doing the defending today. And make no mistake; we will defeat you. As for McKay here, he's got to go." Rodney could practically hear the muscles tensing behind him . . . _don't look, don't look, stay focused._ "It wasn't worth the effort to kill him earlier, but now it's necessary. So Teyla Emmagen, if you want to live a little longer, I suggest you run."

"Doctor McKay is my friend. You will not harm him."

"Oh, I think we will. But apparently, not before we harm you."

Rodney finally caved in and turned around, and at that instant, Teyla leapt at Fish-Ford, who caught her in mid-air and used her own momentum to toss her into the floor. She was up in a second, though, sending a kick through the air that would have decked even Ronon. The alien didn't move a bit; Teyla's kick simply bounced off him like . . . .

_Like a stone off of water._

Fish-Ford had said they formed bodies from water as they needed them. But why would they form bones and internal organs, too? The energy requirements simply to form the outer shell of a body must be enormous no matter how it was done. If they were really just rearranged water molecules—if that were even possible—could they be hurt?

_How do you beat up a tidal wave?_

There was nothing he could do. Teyla threw punch after punch at Fish-Ford, who wasn't even attempting to dodge them. Teyla might as well have been hitting a statue. Even Rodney could see that she was tiring. And when Fish-Ford began to fight back, he didn't need to be stronger than a human. She couldn't hurt him and his weight was apparently enough to make him immovable. The alien slammed a heavy punch into her side and shoved her to the ground. Rodney turned back to the generator and typed frantically, eyes darting over circuits and output readings. But there was no output. No power, no radiation, what the hell was going on!

"Teyla!" He swung round, and God bless Sheppard because there he was, several marines in tow. The team instantly had several guns aimed at Fish-Ford, who was kneeling on the floor, a hand round Teyla's throat. If Sheppard was shocked to see Ford there, he didn't show it. "Let go of her!"

Fish-Ford stared dispassionately at the Colonel. "Why would I do that?"

"Because if you don't, you'll be hit by several dozen bullets. Let go of her." Teyla's face was losing its color, her lips now a faint blue. Rodney knew how she felt.

Fish-Ford glanced at her. "Take your best shot." The alien replied.

Sheppard's face tightened. "You asked for it. Fire!"

Rodney ducked as the room rang with bullets.

* * *

Was it over? There was a grim silence, broken suddenly by a choked gasp. He got up, looking around. Fish-Ford stood unharmed in the middle of the room, and Teyla was semi-conscious, apparently forgotten on the floor. The colonel glanced at him.

_What now?_ He was asking. Come on Rodney, you're the answer man, you know everything, right?

Wrong. He knew nothing, and Fish-Ford was shaking his head.

"Colonel John Sheppard isn't it? We met earlier today. Don't worry, though—this won't take long, and then you'll never meet us, or anyone else, ever again."

"Is that some corny way of saying I'll be dead? 'Cos I have to tell ya, I've heard better." Sheppard's voice was even, his eyes flicking almost imperceptibly from McKay to Teyla—_help her_, right! Rodney inched a little further away from the cover of his desk, headed toward his fallen teammate. Fish-Ford looked right at him before turning back to Sheppard, not fooled at all.

"Sorry, Sheppard. I don't have time to mess around right now. Work to do. But I tell you what, how about I introduce you to some of my friends? Maybe they can make things more clear to you."

"Like what?"

"That you don't belong here." There was a heavy thud from the balcony, as several forms began to clamber over, _Dawn of the Dead–_style. Oh God. "That Atlantis isn't yours. That you have no right to it." The creature's voice lost all pretence at "Fordness" as more of them (the fish-folk, if he had to name them) entered the room. Fish-Ford had been contacting his friends; this was all just a way to buy time for them to assemble bodies. Rodney scanned them, going from one familiar dead face to the next. He was grateful to see that the marines held their positions, but several of them paled as the "people" came to stand behind Ford, about twelve in all. Several were in Atlantean uniform, but there were a few civilians, maybe family members of those present. Fish-Ford had said it was whoever they got the clearest impression of, right? Something resembling Colonel Sumner stood next to Fish-Ford, pale eyes staring coldly at Sheppard. And maybe, just maybe the Colonel's gun shook a little. Fish-Ford was still talking, but Rodney no longer heard the words as he scanned the crowd for . . .

Oh no. No no no no no no.

Peter.

Grodin. No, not Grodin—some weird fish creature that looked like Grodin stood at the back of the crowd. He was identical to the scientist McKay had worked with, and dare he say it, been friends with for over a year. Except for his face. Like Fish-Ford, there was no real emotion there. None of the laughter or interest or fear that had made Peter Peter. This wasn't his friend.

_But,_ a little voice inside him whispered, _he's close enough._ Close enough to make this whole encounter far more disturbing. At least he didn't _know _Ford was dead, but Peter . . . Rodney looked down at the console; there was nothing more he could do here.

"Leave, Sheppard," Fish-Ford was saying. "We would rather not waste energy killing you now, so you can live a few more hours if you stay away."

Sheppard's eyes never left the dead face of Colonel Sumner. "Go to Hell." The Colonel replied, and fired.

But it was just like before; bullets simply seemed to bounce off them, like Teyla's punches had, and so Sheppard and his marines were soon locked in a fist fight that they had no hope of winning. Rodney managed to drag Teyla behind the console, where she coughed uncontrollably. He watched, sickened as one of the marines shook as he fired at a woman walking toward him. His wife? His sister? Thank goodness they hadn't copied Jeanie, he couldn't . . . no matter. They had to get out of here.

"Sheppard!" He yelled into the frenzy of bodies. Sheppard was fighting Fish-Sumner, who threw him against the wall as Rodney called to him. "We have to go!" It was with some difficulty that Sheppard picked himself up off the floor, looking pained and a little dazed. His eyes met Rodney's and then flicked across the room before squeezing shut.

Rodney knew exactly what Sheppard was thinking. One of the marines was on the floor, his neck at a peculiar angle. The others were clearly losing. Teyla was curled up next to him desperately trying to breathe with what looked like broken ribs. The Colonel met his gaze again and Rodney saw the defeat in his eyes.

"Fall back!" Sheppard yelled, anger evident in his voice as he ducked a punch from the Fish-Sumner. "Come on! Get out of here!" Rodney drew on every last ounce of strength he had to pull Teyla's arm over his shoulder and drag her outside. Inside, he heard Sheppard yell again, more thuds, a couple of gunshots, and then he and the marines came spilling out into the corridor. "Get moving!" The Colonel shouted again as the battered company half ran, half limped down the corridor. Someone pulled Teyla away from him and he gratefully concentrated on staying upright. The fish-folk didn't seem interested in giving chase. Eventually, exhausted, bloodied, and minus one of their number, they found a lit section of Atlantis and sat down in the corridor. Sheppard looked at Rodney, the Colonel's nose was bloody and his face was grim.

"That didn't go so well," he said.

* * *

All hail to the lovely Rachel who actually sat around and made 947 edits to this so I didn't make a total idiot out of myself! Betas are the most wonderful people on earth, all credit goes to her, all mistakes are mine alone.

So what do you guys think? I've already made a start on chapter 15 and promise to hurry if you give me some reviews :) I won't even make you sing. Well, maybe a little ;)

So take two seconds and review? Please?


	15. 1150 If in doubt, think and try again

Rodney stared at Sheppard, unable to find words. It didn't matter; the Colonel evidently didn't expect a reply. He wiped some of the blood from his face and tapped his radio. "Sheppard to control room. This is Sheppard, come in!"

"This is Weir. Did you find out what happened to the generator?" Of course . . . the sensors were out. Elizabeth would have no clue what was happening in that section of the city. Then how did Sheppard get there so fast? Kavanaugh couldn't have gotten to the control room so quickly.

"That and more. We have major problems down here."

Rodney only half-listened as the Colonel filled Elizabeth in. His head felt not unlike an overloading Naquadah generator. Apparently, when a fifth of the city blacked out, Elizabeth had grown concerned and tried to hail Rodney. When Sheppard arrived in the control room with reports of his disappearance, she'd added guards to the group of scientists heading to repair the inactive generator. Sheppard's team had met Kavanaugh a few hundred meters from the generator rooms, and after the fleeing scientist's gasping "Aliens . . . Ford— Aliens!" he had decided that the science team should head back 'til he'd checked the place out. And then he'd seen what appeared to be Lieutenant Ford choking the life out of Teyla. Determining in a split second that it wasn't Ford, he'd ordered his team to aim. The rest Rodney knew.

"We lost Brooks," Sheppard finished grimly. "And I've got injured here."

"Acknowledged." Elizabeth's voice was steady, not a hint of reaction in it. "I'll send a medical team."

"Negative. All non-essential personnel should be confined to their quarters. These guys didn't show up on our sensors even before the generator went down; they could be wandering around Atlantis, for all we know."

"So what's your plan, Colonel?"

"Send Ronon down here. He can escort the injured to the infirmary, and I'll meet you in the control room."

"Alright. I'll send a few marines with him, just to be safe."

"Negative, Elizabeth; these aliens just made mincemeat of the marines! Ronon is the only guy I trust to handle himself in the hallways right now."

Sheppard was met with silence. He was pushing Elizabeth a little far, he knew that. Never a good idea for public relations, but sometimes necessary for quick action. When her voice filtered through the static again, it was slightly strained.

"Fine. He's on his way. Just . . . be careful on your way up here."

"Sure. See you soon." The Colonel switched his radio off and looked at Teyla. "How're you doing?" Her face was no longer that sickening grey, though it was still too pale, and an arm was clutching at her ribcage. But the Athosian smiled at him.

"I am fine. I will accompany you to the control room."

"What! No way! You're going straight to the infirmary as soon as Ronon gets here." The colonel held up a hand as Teyla began to protest, "You got the stuffing beaten out of you. Besides, I need you to help Ronon make sure everyone gets there safely."

The glare that Teyla inflicted on him told Sheppard that she wasn't fooled at all, but he was moving on. To Rodney.

"Care to explain what the hell happened there, McKay?"

Stopping occasionally to catch his breath, Rodney told him the whole story. Ford appearing in the lab, no one realizing he didn't belong there; the "accident"; being shoved in a closet; Teyla and Kavanaugh's miraculous appearance—at this point McKay's throat betrayed him and he launched in a spectacular coughing fit that left him gasping and Sheppard frowning. To Rodney's obvious gratitude, Teyla quickly took up the story, describing their trip to the generator room and explaining Fish-Ford's appearance and the ensuing battle.

"So these . . . fish people . . . are the same fish we saw in the ocean earlier?" Sheppard asked when she'd finished.

Rodney nodded. "And not only are they fish, they're crazy psychotic fish who have this weird idea that we are somehow trespassing on Atlantis." Sheppard raised his eyebrows at that, prompting a "What?" from Rodney.

"Well, we are."

"Well so are they! It's not like they're the ancients . . . are they?"

Sheppard leant back against the wall. "Not unless the Ancients took their pets with them when they ascended."

"Hey, Sheppard!" A low voice called from down the hall.

* * *

Rodney watched the Colonel's head snap up, hands going to his P90 even as he recognized the speaker walking toward them. "Ronon! Buddy! Great to see you!" Their teammate was approaching, P90 slung like a toy across his huge frame.

"Sheppard." The Satedan's eyes flickered from the Colonel, to Teyla, to Rodney, who offered a small wave in return. "Trouble?"

"Trouble. I need you to get everyone to the infirmary. Get Beckett to check them out and bring everyone he clears back to the control room. And Ronon? Don't take your eyes off McKay. You have my permission to shoot him if he tries to make a run for it."

"What!" spluttered Rodney.

"On stun, of course."

"Colonel!"

"McKay, do _not_ try me right now! If it wasn't for the fact that I need to get to the control room, I'd drag you to Beckett myself. And don't think I've forgotten about the stunt you pulled after your "shower," either!"

McKay had no answer to that. The marines were staring, and he could feel his face burning red hot.

"He took a little field trip," Sheppard gruffly explained to the rest of the team. "Ronon?"

As the huge man helped Teyla up, the rest of them stumbled to their feet with only a few groans and mutters. Ronon addressed Sheppard again,

"You're going to the control room?"

"Yeah. I'll meet you there when you're done. Keep an eye out."

"Sure thing." The Satedan gestured to Rodney. "Get moving McKay."

"What? No!" he protested, his earlier wistful thoughts regarding the infirmary forgotten. "Look, no matter what you might think, you need me up there!"

"_McKay_—"

"Just . . . just wait a minute. Radek's in the infirmary and as far as I know, still unconscious. Without him, I'm the only one who has any chance in hell of figuring out what they did to the generators, let alone fix them! Now I'll be the first one to admit that I might not be quite up to my usual standard of perfect health—"

"Perfect?"

"But even comatose," Rodney plowed on over the Colonel's vocal incredulity, "I'd still have a better chance of reactivating the generators than any of the idiots you've got upstairs! The fact is, you need me up there. And I seriously doubt you can get rid of these goons without me."

This was met with total and utter silence. Everyone was staring at him. The marines looked shocked; Teyla, surprised; Ronon, slightly amused; and the Colonel . . . just looked at him.

"Fine. McKay, you're with me. Ronon, get the others to the infirmary." Now it was Rodney's turn to stare, dumbfounded. Ronon flashed him a wolfish grin as he herded the others past him; Teyla offered a pale smile. Sheppard had already started walking off and yelled, "Hey! You coming?"

"Oh . . . sure." He hurried after the Colonel and wondered why on Earth he had just passed up his opportunity for a deep, drugged sleep.

"So these things came from the _ocean_?" Elizabeth marveled.

"As far as we can tell. Unfortunately, it seems that they prefer Atlantis. And they're willing to kill everyone to get it." Rodney sighed. They had gotten to the control room about ten minutes ago and met Elizabeth in her office. She had already confined everyone except military personnel to their quarters, and despite Sheppard's advice, had sent groups of soldiers out to patrol the corridors with the strict orders that they _not_ engage. All that had happened since they got there, however, was them establishing that the aliens were A: fish, B: psychotic fish, and C: psychotic fish that didn't mind killing a Marine to get Atlantis.

His headache was getting worse.

"Did you try to talk to them? Maybe they thought you were attacking them when the 'jumper crashed earlier. They might even think we're working with the Wraith."

"_What?"_

"Who knows how long they've been there? The ancients left ten thousand years ago; it's entirely possible they think Atlantis has fallen to the Wraith."

"But we aren't Wraith," Rodney protested.

"But we aren't Ancients, either. You said they could sense emotions? Well I don't know about you, but I've seen feelings running pretty high over the past year. If they were unfortunate enough to encounter first Rodney's terror of drowning—"

"Terror! I—"

"—and then later on, the alien ran into him creating a powerful weapon. Don't you see how they might have taken a negative impression of us?"

"So you're saying it's my fault?" Rodney snapped, the guilt already implanted in his head taking firmer root.

Elizabeth sighed. "No, I'm just saying that we can't judge them over one incident. They may just be reacting to a potential threat, the same way we would."

"They killed one of my men!" Sheppard yelled.

"Yes, they did," replied Elizabeth, her soft tone carrying more understanding than Rodney could have packed into an hour's conversation. "And I'm sorry for that. But I won't authorize the killing of what could be a native Lantean species until we've at least tried to find a peaceful solution."

Sheppard scowled and sat heavily in the seat across from their leader. "What do you have in mind?"

Elizabeth turned her attention back to Rodney. "You said that the alien impersonating Lieutenant Ford said that it took a lot of energy to change shape?"

"He said it was a waste of energy to change, actually. They seemed quite preoccupied with that idea; probably the only reason they didn't chase after us, I might add. They're more into energy conservation than Greenpeace."

"So we know what they look like." Elizabeth continued, ignoring the rest of his sentence. "We find one of them, preferably on its own, and talk to it."

"What do you want to say to them? 'Hey glowing fish, sorry we fell into your ocean and everything; it won't happen again, so would you just swim away and not kill us?'"

"Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of "Hello," but if you'd rather take over the introductions, Rodney, then feel free."

"But how are you even going to find one of them?" Sheppard interrupted. "They don't show up on the biometric sensors."

At that moment, Dr.Handedaz, Handess, Haagen-Dazs . . . H-_something_, anyway, knocked on the door of Elizabeth's office.

"Dr. Weir? We're getting fluctuations from the Naquadah generator on the south side of the city. They're the same as the readings we got from the other generator before it went out."

Rodney frowned at the Doctor as though it was his fault there was psychotic fish wandering around Atlantis. Oh, for the days when wacky alien fish would have been a cartoon he scoffed at on TV . . .

"Cadman's team was headed that way on her last radio contact. They're armed with stunners, as bullets seemed to have had no effect last time," Sheppard interjected, obviously seeing where Elizabeth's thoughts were headed. How he knew where every team was, Rodney had no idea. Maybe the schematics of the base and patrol routes were implanted into his genetic structure along with the ATA gene.

Elizabeth nodded. "Good, have her head over there and hold position _outside _the generator room. I don't want to give the . . . people down there any more reasons to think us aggressive."

"So we're . . ."

"Going down there? Yes, Colonel. Rodney, I suggest you—"

"I'm coming with you."

"Rodney . . ."

"I still need to find out what they've done to the generators. If we can stop them before they completely deactivate this one, then perhaps I can fix whatever they've already done." At their doubtful looks, he added, "If I don't, and it isn't deactivated, there's a possibility it could overload."

Elizabeth stared at him for a minute before nodding. "Fine. Let's get down there." Sheppard followed Elizabeth out of her office as she went to brief the staff in the control room. Rodney sighed and went to go after them, but suddenly fell into the wall.

The world spun sickeningly, garish purple dots danced in front of his eyes; everything was a mesh of harsh light and livid color. He breathed deeply, one . . . two . . . three . . . one . . . two . . . three.

The spinning slowed.

The dots diminished and faded.

After what seemed like years, it was safe to stand up again. He took another deep breath. His head still hurt and his muscles burned with a new intensity, but there was work to do. Just for a little longer, even just a few minutes more, he had to hold out.

"Hey Rodney, you coming?" Sheppard's head popped through the door, a suspicious frown creasing his face.

"Sure. Just thinking," he replied, joining Sheppard, the dizziness thankfully abated.

Elizabeth walked over to meet them, her face set. "Are you ready?"

They nodded. Rodney and Sheppard stopped on the way to collect guns from the armory closest to the control room. "You too, Elizabeth." Sheppard said as he adjusted the strap of his P90. Elizabeth hesitated, and then reached for a 9mm and a spare clip.

* * *

It felt wrong right from the very start. Atlantis was completely silent, even in the lit corridors. You'd have thought it was midnight rather than midday. The city had rarely been so quiet since their arrival.

But it was when they got to the south generator room that everything went to Hell.

Rodney had listened as Sheppard had contacted Cadman before they left. She'd readily assented to stand guard for them, not able to resist adding a sarcastic "Hey Rodney" to him over the radio. Sheppard still seemed to find the idea of having a _female_ lieutenant stuck in Rodney's head oh-so-funny. As for the Beckett thing . . . just another reason he'd rather not be seen hanging around the infirmary.

But Cadman didn't answer when Sheppard had contacted her again. They were a few hundred yards or so from the generator room and the Colonel said something about the status of the fish people. When there was no answer, they all stopped.

Rodney exchanged a worried glance with Elizabeth. Cadman might not be his favorite person, but he never wanted to see her hurt. Well, maybe during the Beckett thing . . . But never like this, not because of him . . .

"Cadman?" Sheppard tried again; nothing but static. "Lieutenant, report!"

Nothing.

Then a burst: "Colonel! They're—"

And silence again. They waited for what seemed like hours but could have only been a minute. The radio remained silent.

"To hell with this!" Sheppard growled, and set off at a run down the corridor.

"Colonel!" Elizabeth yelled, but to no avail, and soon they were racing after him. The world was spinning around Rodney's head again, but it didn't matter. They had to get there; if they were there, then somehow they could do _something_— Ow! He had run straight into Sheppard's back, almost sending them both flying . . .

. . . Into a scene out of his nightmares. Four soldiers lay on the ground, dead or unconscious, he had no idea which. The only one still standing was Cadman. Two of the fish-folk, the ones resembling Ford and the civilian woman, were working on the generator, doing what, he couldn't tell. The other one was Grodin. The fish resembling him, rather; the Fish-Grodin was facing Cadman, looking none the worse for wear. Cadman, however . . . he was shocked she was still standing. Her face was a mess of blood and fast-swelling bruises; one arm hung limply by her side and even through the baggy uniform he could tell that her shoulder was dislocated. He felt an irrational burst of pride that she was still standing there, facing down Fish-Grodin with an expression that would have been steely if it hadn't been so covered in blood.

Then Fish-Grodin kicked out again and the pride vanished in a cloud of panic.

"Get the hell away from her!" Sheppard yelled, breaking free of the terror that had frozen everyone in their places. The Colonel was down by the Lieutenant's side in a heartbeat, aiming his 9mm at Fish-Grodin.

The fish was unimpressed.

"Why are you doing this?" Elizabeth moved forward now, and though Rodney put a hand on her arm to hold her back, she pulled free. "What did they do to you that you would hurt them like this?"

"Your race is violent and hateful. We sensed their hostility and we eliminated it. That is all." Unlike Fish-Ford, who was a carbon copy of Ford in almost every way, Fish-Grodin spoke with the dead man's voice but with none of Grodin's mannerisms. At least that was something.

"So now you hate us? For feeling?"

"We are incapable of hate. Above it. Beyond it and you. Your pale ghosts of emotion are primitive and of no use to us."

"So you're incapable of mercy? Of compassion? That doesn't put you above us; animals have been known to be more "advanced."

"Mercy is nothing to us. We act as our nature guides us. Atlantis is ours; we shall reclaim it," Fish-Grodin replied simply, turning back to Sheppard and the beaten Cadman.

Rodney stepped forward. "Wait!" he half yelled, half yelped in his panic. The dead eyes turned on him now, but he managed somehow to ignore them. "You!" He pointed at Fish-Ford, who continued to work on the generator. "Earlier you could have killed me. It wasn't like I could have stopped you. But you not only didn't—for which I am _very _grateful by the way—but you actually answered my questions. Why?"

It was quite possibly the shortest speech he'd ever made. Fish-Ford continued to ignore him, but the Grodin creature spoke in his place.

"The one you refer to as 'he' was one alone. He was vulnerable to your stronger emotions when he expended energy creating a body and influencing your memories. To induce an atmosphere of trust, he had become more receptive to your petty emotional states. But we are together now. You cannot influence us that way again."

"So why did you just answer my question now?"

"Because it allowed us time to finish our work without further interruption."

Rodney jerked involuntarily, his eyes drawn to the silent creatures in the corner. Fish-Grodin followed his eyes and began coldly, "Do not—"

Sheppard moved. Springing up from his crouch next to Cadman, he tackled Fish-Grodin . . . or tried to, anyway. The Grodin creature was as immovable as Ford had been. But that didn't stop Sheppard from taking another swing at him. Elizabeth took a step back, reaching for her gun even as Rodney did what he suspected was quite possibly the most stupid thing he had done all day.

He ran right across the room and threw a left hook at Fish-Ford.

He only wanted to distract the fish-man for a minute so that he couldn't deactivate the generator. It didn't occur to him 'til he was actually swinging that Fish-Ford might hit back. So it was a bit of a shock when he found himself smashing into wall on the opposite end of the room and sliding to the floor in a pained daze.

Time to revise that "no stronger than the average man" theory.

Rodney was grateful to see that Elizabeth had grabbed Cadman somehow and was pulling her out of the room. But Sheppard and Fish-Grodin were still fighting in and around the fallen soldiers. Sheppard wasn't winning, but he wasn't losing, either. At least not until Fish-Grodin caught his arm at the wrist and elbow and forced it the wrong way.

The crack was sickening to hear, and Rodney's already fading vision blacked out completely for a second when he heard Sheppard scream.

For Sheppard to have howled like that, the pain must have been incredible.

Sheppard was down on the floor and Fish-Ford was heading toward him, his blank wide eyes more terrifying than Koyla's anger ever was. The fish-woman was still at the generator, but no doubt she'd go after Elizabeth when she was done.

Fish-Ford was nearly there, and Rodney's eyes darted around, his hands fumbling on the ground for the gun he'd dropped. Finally, they closed around something cold and metallic.

It was only as he fired that he realized it wasn't his gun at all, but one of the Wraith stunners that the soldiers had been carrying. The blue lighting bolt hit Fish-Ford and the creature paused, but then started toward Sheppard again.

Sheppard was struggling to get up, but Fish-Grodin was there and lifting his arm to strike. . .

But the woman at the generator must have finished, because then everything went black.

* * *

Oh no! What's going to happen? More Rodney whump for those of you who have been complaining, and the Shep whumping is for my dear Beta. Have started work on next chapter and will post as soon as I can.

Bark like a chicken or leave me a review to hurry up the next chapter!

Kudos as always go to SGA, David Hewlit, and Rachel :)


	16. 1220 Lunch?

Rodney lifted the stunner to fire again before his brain finally caught up and reminded him that he couldn't see a thing. He could hit anyone in this blackout.

But if he didn't do _something, _they'd kill Sheppard!

Instead of shooting blindly, he tried to stand, but his head was still reeling from hitting the wall. If he didn't have a skull fracture it'd be a miracle. But even as he slumped back to the floor, there was a thud and another scream. Rodney lifted the stunner again—he had to shoot. If he didn't, Sheppard was dead anyway. But the damned thing wasn't working on these . . . fish!

Still, maybe it would distract them . . . he aimed in the direction of the scuffle and prayed to God he didn't hit Sheppard.

"Enough." A voice sounded in the darkness. Rodney froze. Fish-Ford?

"We should eliminate them now. They will continue to disrupt our work," came the high, cold voice of the fish-woman.

"They cannot stop us. We should not waste energy in needless violence. You are being influenced by their primitive anger." A pause. Rodney's hands shook even as he gripped the stunner.

"Or are _you_ being influenced? Their desire for life is strong."

"This is irrational. We are together; we are strong. They cannot influence us," replied Ford's voice. In the dark it could _be_ Ford, save for the iciness of his tone. "They will die soon and it will cost us little. Waste no more energy on them now."

Another pause. The silence was like the warning tremors of an earthquake. All he could hear were the gasping breaths of Sheppard—sounds that confirmed his friend was still alive. He clutched the gun like a lifeline; if they didn't go, he'd—

"Very well." Another dead voice echoed. Grodin's voice. In the black he could almost fool himself that it was his lost friend.

The words didn't register in his foggy mind until he heard people, the fish people, moving past him. He tried to lower his gun; knowing his luck, they could see in this blackness. There was certainly no hesitation in their step, but his hands wouldn't let go. God, what if they thought he was going to shoot them? But he had shot Fish-Ford and they hadn't killed him yet . . . Something brushed against the end of the stunner—someone walking past him, a shadow against the dark. It paused and turned toward him, and Rodney wondered if his luck had run out.

"Come on," Fish-Ford's voice urged from . . . somewhere in the room, probably the door. The shadow, whoever it was, turned away. If Weir and Cadman were still in the hall, they made no sound as the fish-people walked past them. Rodney just held on to the stunner for dear life, surprised he hadn't crushed it yet. Seconds went by and no one made a sound.

Then a pained voice from the center of the room. "Hey, little help here?"

"Was that . . . are they . . ." Another shadow at the door. Elizabeth this time.

"They're gone." Rodney replied, more to convince himself than anything. "How's . . . I mean, is Cadman—"

"I'm alive, Rodney, if that's what you mean," a wry voice replied from the door, followed by a weak cough.

"Cadman, good to hear your voice," Sheppard called. "McKay, any chance of some light in here?"

"On it." Rodney tried to get up again and was pleasantly surprised when his legs complied. He felt along the wall until he found the panel where the light "switch" was and forced the casing off.

"Just a question," Cadman's voice filtered through from somewhere on the ground now. "If they disabled the generator, how are you going to turn the lights on? I thought this section was out of power now."

"So it is. However, Zelenka and I came up with this useful little device a while back . . ." he said, feeling about the panel for the right slot.

"And what would that be?"

Rodney slid the flat crystal into the panel and answered, "Batteries." He squeezed his eyes shut as the lights came on, but judging by the assorted yelps and groans, he was the only one. Still, he found himself blinking rapidly in an attempt (sadly, none too successful) to adjust his pounding head to the light.

"Batteries? Nice one, Rodney." Even curled up on the floor Sheppard managed to roll his eyes.

Under the light, the scene looked even worse. The four men on the floor hadn't moved, though Rodney could see that two of them at least were breathing. One was clearly dead, but the other he couldn't tell. Cadman was sitting just next to the door, her grey face a gruesome contrast to the bright blood still leaking from her head wound. He couldn't bring himself to look at her shoulder. Sheppard was sitting in the middle of everything, his injured—no broken, definitely broken—arm held protectively against his chest. But despite the pain, he kept his head.

"Any chance your batteries could light up the rest of this section? It's gonna be hell walking through dark corridors again."

Rodney sank to the floor, as standing seemed an unnecessary evil at the moment. "Sorry. These babies are strictly a one-room deal. I picked up a couple from the control room before we left; figured we might need them."

"Well for once, we all thank you for your pessimism." Elizabeth had reappeared at the doorway, looking thankfully unhurt. "I've called a medical team. They're on their way; Ronon is escorting them."

"Twice in one day; they're going to love him," Sheppard quipped, even as he put two shaking fingers to the neck of the nearest man, the one Rodney wasn't sure of. "Dead. The others?"

Elizabeth quickly checked them over. Sure enough, two of the men were still alive, and she calmly administered first aid, talking with Sheppard all the while in low voices that Rodney couldn't quite make out. That was fine; he wasn't in the mood for discussion. Instead, he edged over to Cadman, who was looking paler by the minute. "You umm, you okay?"

The Lieutenant looked up at him and sighed, "That's probably the dumbest thing you've ever said to me."

"Oh. Sorry."

His ex-headmate chuckled. "Don't worry. I don't think any of us are thinking straight at the moment." She looked past him to the dead men on the floor, and he saw her flinch. Of course, they were probably friends of hers.

"Did you know them well?" he asked tentatively, and then immediately chided himself—stupid, stupid question! To his surprise, she didn't shout or even scowl at him. She just nodded slightly and leaned her head back against the wall.

"Calvin, Mick. They were good guys. Calvin came with me on the Daedalus. Mick was here with the original expedition. We had lunch a few times. They were . . . they didn't deserve to die."

Rodney thought of Peter, Dumais, Gaul; all the countless people that had been lost on this expedition. "No. No they didn't." Cadman glanced at him, but if she had any idea of what he was really talking about, she said nothing. They sat together in silence for a few minutes, Rodney feeling more at ease with her than he had since the whole mind-sharing thing.

"So, what are these aliens doing here anyway?" asked Cadman—shouldn't he call her Laura? They'd been closer than any reasonable people ever should be, after all. Maybe . . . but no, not a good idea. She was a trained military officer, and he didn't need any more bruises today.

"It's uh . . . it's kind of my fault." He managed, before giving her the abbreviated version. She was silent for a minute, watching Sheppard try to rouse one of her fellow officers.

"So they di— we got beaten up because you and Sheppard pissed off some_ fish_!" She laughed humorlessly. "I mean, I get that I might have to die to save the city, but _fish_? Mick and Calvin . . ." She shook her head. "It seems kind of pointless."

"I'm sorry." He shut his eyes, blocking out the view in front of him. Didn't do a damn bit of good.

"Oh, suck it up, McKay." He reopened his eyes. Cadman was staring at him, and the despair of a minute ago had fled in favor of anger. "You want out of this situation? Well, so do I! But unlike me, you don't get to descend into a pit of self-pity. They need those brains you're so proud of—been there by the way, you can keep them—to solve this." She slumped, taking a deep breath before finishing with gritted teeth, "You don't get to be the bad guy here. Now I might not have degrees in physics and mechanical engineering, but you do."

"Your point being?"

"When are you going to stop feeling sorry for yourself and get on with your job? Fix the generator, save the day, do whatever you do around here. Because if those guys carry on the way they have been, your 'sorry' isn't going to be of any use to any of us!"

Rodney tried to scowl at her but somehow ended up stumbling over to the generator and pulling out a scanner from his jacket instead. It was amazing the thing hadn't been smashed. He took a few readings, muttering numbers to himself, and half-heartedly tried a restart before slamming his fist into the table.

"Ow!" He yelped, shaking the offending fist.

"Problem?" Cadman called softly. Sheppard and Elizabeth were looking at him, too.

"I— I, umm, I don't get it."

Sheppard raised his eyebrows even as he winced at the slight movement. "You don't?"

"Nope. It makes no sense."

"What doesn't?" Cadman prompted.

"There's no power, no radioactivity. It's almost like the Naquadah wasn't—" He met Cadman's eyes, and they mirrored his own shock, "Oh no."

"What?"

"Oh no no no no no no, this is not good." He shook his head, repeating his readings again. Nothing. "The only way I could be getting these readings was if the Naquadah wasn't there."

"You're saying the aliens destroyed it?" Elizabeth asked, her eyebrows rising with her voice at the end of the question.

"No, no no! You can't just destroy Naquadah like that. This is much worse. It's been removed."

"_Removed_!"

"Right. And given that Naquadah is extremely radioactive—"

"If they gathered the Naquadah from all five generators . . ." Cadman jumped in, catching on right away.

"Presuming, of course, that they don't accidentally cause an explosion big enough to level the city—"

"Without shielding, exposed to the water vapor in the air it'll become highly unstable."

"And the radiation levels alone will be enough to kill everyone in the city," Rodney finished, staring wide-eyed at Cadman. "This is terrible!"

"How long?" Elizabeth asked.

He did some rapid calculations in his throbbing head, a little surprised that his brain still worked at all, let alone so flawlessly. "If they can collect all the Naquadah, a couple of hours, tops."

Silence met his statement until Sheppard summed it up in his oh-so-eloquent manner.

"I guess we have a problem then."

* * *

Sheppard was more than a little relieved when the medical team arrived. He was unwilling to risk the dulling effects of narcotics for the steadily increasing (and if he was honest, almost unbearable) pain in his arm, but he gratefully accepted three Tylenol and relinquished the bodies of Lieutenants Lenson and Finnigan—Mick and Calvin, Cadman shakily informed him. He hadn't known them well, though Lenson had been out with his team a few times. But he'd have a mourn them later; right now, he had to save the goddamned day again.

And the same went for pain. He struggled to his feet against the advice of the medic tending him.

"Sir, you really need to come to the infirmary. Doctor Beckett will—"

"Doctor Beckett will be dealing with acute cases of radiation poisoning if I don't get my ass in gear. Can you set this here?"

"Sir?"

"Can you?"

"Probably, but I—"

"Do it."

"Sir—"

"That's an order, Lieutenant!"

Sheppard gritted his teeth as the young woman cautiously examined the offending limb again, prodding it _way_ more than he felt was necessary. "It looks like a simple fracture, but I can't be sure until—"

"I am _not_ going to the infirmary. Do what you can here and I'll see Beckett when this is over."

To her credit, the medic didn't bother arguing with him further. She got a splint and a sling out of her bag, firmly insisted that he lay back on the floor ("This way if you faint, you won't hit your head," followed by a snort from Rodney), and went about setting his arm.

Everyone very politely pretended not to hear his scream or the whimpers that followed.

Five minutes and one bout of pain-induced vomiting later, with extra Tylenol and orders to visit the infirmary "two hours yesterday," Sheppard stumbled over to where Weir and Rodney were talking and raised a hand in farewell to Cadman as she was carried out of the room. Weir was listening carefully as Rodney explained something, his usually expansive hand gestures strangely subdued. Well . . . not so strange. The man literally looked like death. His skin would have been more at home on a corpse, stretched white and grey over his face, and his movements were stiff and jerky, as though he didn't quite have control over his muscles. But the most telling thing? Rodney was blinking too often, too slowly. He'd known the scientist to go five minutes without a blink in mid-explanation. In short, McKay looked like the last possible candidate for saving their collective asses . . . right behind himself, he suspected.

Appearances could be deceiving. And this time, they'd better be.

"Ah, Colonel . . ." McKay acknowledged him with a tired nod, "How are you feeling?"

"Peachy. What have we got?"

"As of this moment? Nothing."

"Nothing!"

"Yes Colonel, nothing. Do you have any brilliant insights to share with us?"

"No, but I don't claim to be the smartest man in two galaxies do I!"

"That's enough!" Weir snapped. "I'm as concerned as anyone about saving this city, but in light of what just happened, maybe we should consider evacuation."

"_What?"_ Sheppard and McKay shouted in chorus.

"Look, God knows I don't want to lose the city, but now that we've seen what these creatures are capable of," Elizabeth's eyes strayed to where his men had been lying just minutes ago, "I don't think we can reason with them. And I'm damned if I'm going to lose another one of my people to some kind of alien _fish_. Especially when we don't have a way to fight back!"

"Don't have a way to fight back _yet_." Sheppard corrected. "McKay'll come up with something."

"Heartwarming as your sudden faith in me is, Colonel, if Fish-Ford hadn't decided we weren't worth killing at just the crucial moment, you wouldn't be here to— oh."

Sheppard exchanged a puzzled glance with Elizabeth before looking back at his friend. "Rodney?"

"Shut up a minute, I'm thinking." The scientist turned away to begin his customary pacing, arms already gesturing as he— fell!

"Whoa!" Sheppard reached out to grab McKay, somehow forgetting his broken arm. It rewarded his lapse with another surge of nausea and a sharp flare of agony that made him yelp. Sparks danced on the edge of his vision and he took several deep breaths to clear them. He didn't realize he was on the floor again until the pain abated to something resembling bearable, and he was glad to see that Elizabeth's reflexes were better than he gave her credit for. McKay was leaning against the wall rather than on the floor beside him, though the scientist was canting so far forward that he might be better off on the ground. And if Sheppard had thought Rodney pale earlier, now his skin was practically translucent, his breaths coming in short, stuttering gasps. Elizabeth had a hand on Rodney's elbow, murmured something soothing to him even as she cast an equally worrying glance at Sheppard that said she was sorry she couldn't be in two places at once. It was a pity the medics had gone; setting his jaw, he levered himself off the floor with a moan and took the torturous two steps over to the pair, his entire arm throbbing with even the tiniest movements.

"Hey buddy. What's up?" He forced a tone of tight nonchalance, ignoring the incredulous look from Elizabeth. Rodney looked like he was about to pass out (or die, but he silenced _that_ little voice), and an unconscious McKay was something they couldn't afford right now. So it was to his relief that Rodney actually straightened a little.

"Oh, you know, skipped lunch. Never a good idea if you're on the— oh!" Sheppard watched in sympathy as McKay bent double and gripped his stomach with all the fervor of a nervous cadet holding a live grenade. Hypoglycemia? If only that was all that was wrong. Still . . . he rummaged in his pockets. Lint, penknife, some random piece of paper, and—

"Power-bar?" He offered casually, meeting Elizabeth's concerned eyes over Rodney's shoulder as their friend failed to respond. Rodney not immediately taking up an offer of food was a bad sign. "McKay?"

"Yes, yes, still here," came the tired reply. "And thank you." Trembling fingers took the snack from his. It was gone in a minute, and Sheppard watched with satisfaction as the scientist regained a frail shade of color. A few minutes later, he achieved something like a vertical posture, and Sheppard felt it safe to speak.

"Hate to hurry you McKay, but you said something about killing these things?"

"No. No I didn't, but I have an idea."

"Which is?" Elizabeth prompted.

"Fish-Ford was the only one who really opposed killing us where we stood, right?"

"Well, I wouldn't say he was opposed to the whole killing aspect, but he seemed willing to take his time over it." Sheppard agreed.

"But he didn't attain that oh-so-diplomatic stance until after—"

"After you hit him with the stunner." Sheppard finished, catching on. "So what, we hit them with a few more stunner blasts?"

"Not going to do it. Wraith stunners are only designed to disrupt the electrical activity of the human nervous system, right?"

"Yes, but what does that have to do with—"Elizabeth hadn't a hope of finishing her question; Rodney was on the warpath

"From what I saw underwater, and from what we've learned about them since, I'm guessing their brains—their consciousness, if you will—are just housed temporarily in these bodies they've made. In the ocean, they were just energy."

"Looked like fish to me." Sheppard muttered, but he was listening attentively.

"Well fish don't generally have the ability to form bodies out of water, now do they? I'm guessing that these aliens aren't so much biological as they are electrical."

"Electrical? Like light bulbs"

"Yes, Colonel, like light bulbs." And Sheppard could _hear_ McKay's eyes rolling. "I don't know how, but I think they're somehow like the ancients. Not as advanced, of course; they have no physical bodies anymore, but they aren't ascended, either. So their consciousness just hovers around in . . . in bundles of electrical energy until they can assemble some kind of body to house it."

"But why would any being capable of shedding their bodies choose to live in an Ocean?" Elizabeth asked.

"How would I know? My point is, if I'm right, I might have a way to stop them.

"But how?" Sheppard asked. "I mean, you can't kill an ancient. Can you?"

"Did you not listen to a word I just said? They aren't ancients! Imagine someone taking your brain . . . you know what? Bad example. Taking _your _brain," Rodney turned to Elizabeth, and Sheppard wondered if he should be insulted, "and downloading your neural relays, everything, into a huge computer program. You'd still be conscious, still able to think, but you wouldn't have a physical form. But nor would you be free of the thought patterns you have now."

"So these fish people . . . are brains?"

"More complicated than that. They've obviously attained some kind of corporeal structure for their consciousness or they'd have no cohesion whatsoever, but my guess is that it's far frailer than a biological brain."

"So how do we kill them?" Sheppard asked, a hint of irritation in his voice; Rodney really needed to get to the point.

"If I can create a souped-up version of the Wraith stunner, it might, and I repeat might be enough to permanently destabilize the electrical structure that forms their consciousness. But this is a lot of guesswork; we don't even know for sure what they are."

Sheppard turned to Weir. His CO was staring at the floor again, her features set and unreadable.

"Is there any way you could create a weapon that would just stun them like the Wraith weapon does?"

"Elizabeth, I don't even know if I can create something that will tickle them at this point. The only way to test it will be—"

"On them. Ford, Grodin, and the others." Sheppard didn't . . . couldn't . . . mention the alien taking Sumner's form.

McKay nodded. "And we're running out of time. I'm guessing they've spread out to go after the remaining three generators. They could take another one down anytime now, and if we lose them all, our time gets a lot shorter."

Weir turned away, and Sheppard could see the uncertainty in every line of her body. He moved to stand beside her. "Look, I don't like this any more than you do, but it's us or them." He urged, laying out the hard truth. Someone had to.

Silence. Then Weir turned around. "How long?"

"I don't know. I need to get to my lab, all my equipment is there."

Another pause, except this time nobody could look at each other.

"Do it." Sheppard nodded, lifting his eyes from the floor and locking them on Elizabeth's. "I'll get McKay to his lab. Are you—"

"I'll be in the control room."

Of course she would. He nodded to McKay. "Let's get moving." And with only a hint of shakiness, his friend pushed away from the wall and headed for the doorway, and they began their dangerous journey through the dark.

* * *

Hey! I'm getting these done as fast as possible but this was the hardest chapter yet to write! Hope it sounds okay! Three cheers as always for my fevered Beta who despite being poorly, endevoured to check through this monsterous creation and correct the thousand or so errors so y'all could readit :)

Need reviews :P Gimme. Please?

(More whumping coming up :))


	17. 1230 Work work work

Rodney and Sheppard walked down the corridor, McKay mentally giving Sheppard a full minute before he made some inane remark.

"So, McKay. Having a bad day?"

Apparently, he gave him too much credit.

"Yes. Yes I am," he muttered though gritted teeth. Okay, so Atlantis was floating on an ocean, but he couldn't usually _see_ the floor swaying.

"Good. I'd hate to think I was the only one."

Do _not _hit the man with the better combat training and the heavy weaponry. Breathe . . . just breathe . . . oh, to Hell with that!

"Fascinating as this conversation is, Colonel, how about you exercise whatever minuscule amount of self control you have and we take this trip _silently_."

"Silently? Who are you and what did you do with our Mc—" Sheppard broke off, apparently realizing how profoundly stupid that question was, given the current circumstances.

After a minute of awkward silence, Sheppard asked, "So what happened to you? I mean, no offense Rodney, but you looked like hell even before the jumper test."

"I thought you hadn't noticed."

"What, I'm blind now? You've got less color than a wraith on a diet."

Rodney snorted. "Thank you for your oh so complimentary observations Colonel, but I'm fine."

"Sure you are. But I still want to know what was going on this morning. How'd you get Carson mad at you even _before_ you blew something up?"

Rodney considered that for a moment. "As I said, I may have avoided him a little."

"Just a little?" There was an expectant pause that Rodney didn't bother to fill. Finally, Sheppard sighed and asked, "Why?"

"There was a certain . . . incident with the oxygen filters this morning. I may have inadvertently inhaled a little toxic gas while correcting a malfunction."

"Just toxic gas in general, or toxic gas of a particular type?" came the sarcastic reply.

Rodney took a deep breath before offering a forced casual "Chlorine."

Even in the dark, Rodney could feel Sheppard's glare through the long silence. It wasn't often that he left Sheppard speechless . . . this _couldn't_ be good.

"And you thought this wasn't worth seeing Carson over . . . how?"

"I was _working,_ Colonel. You may be happy to spend your days on your Gameboy playing Tetris—"

"Mario."

Rodney scowled. "What?"

"It's Mario now. You can only win Tetris so many times before it gets old."

"Whatever. My point _is_ that not all of us have that luxury."

"Look, Rodney, I know there are ancient doohickeys to decipher and galaxies to save and all that, but if you need time off, you need time off."

"Is that what you're going to tell the Wraith when they come back?"

More silence. McKay focused on the still-dark path in front of him. They should be coming to a lit section soon.

"McKay, what's going on?" Sheppard's voice was deceptively calm.

"Nothing."

"Really? Because for the self-proclaimed smartest man in Atlantis, you're being an awfully big idiot."

That was rich! Coming from the man who called a deadly, life sucking, already-mad Wraith "Steve!" Not to mention flew around with nuclear bombs for fun! He struggled for an insult strong enough to counter the sheer lunacy of that remark, but could only choke out, "Hello, pot? Meet kettle!"

"I mean it, McKay." Of course he did. Pig-headed, idiotic, pyromaniac-prone— "Why didn't you go see Carson?"

"Because I wanted to go on the mission later, okay? Which was apparently such a stupid idea that it was Sheppard-worthy! Not to mention doomed from the start." He paused, trying to catch his breath and some semblance of calm. "I knew if Carson signed me off it could be weeks before we could go there, _if_ another team wasn't sent there first and some idiot didn't ruin my chances of a second look at the thing!"

"Thing? Does this have something to do with that wacky ancient doohickey we found last time? The one—"

"The one I thought might be a medical device, yes. Well as it turns out, it's a lot more than that."

"Really. You never said anything."

"Well I wasn't sure."

"But you are now?"

"Yes. Well . . . kind of. I need another look to be sure-sure."

"So what is it that's so important?"

Haltingly, with more reluctance than he'd ever shown in explaining an idea to Sheppard—well, to anyone if he was honest—Rodney laid out his theory to the fatal judgment of a US military pragmatist. The writing on the device he'd had translated, the complicated energy patterns with it, possible functions for aspects of the machine, even the murkier areas of guesswork and maybes, all in an effort to convince his suspiciously silent friend. If only he'd got to PX4 873 . . . if this thing really could reverse the effects of a wraith feeding . . .

It might be too late for Gaul and Abrams, but maybe if this saved others from the same fate, it would dissolve some infinitesimal amount of the guilt he carried from bringing two untrained civilians on the mission that got them killed.

Civilians . . . And what did that make him? A soldier? No, but he should have known better, should have known not to—

Enough with the whiny internal arguing. Sheppard was still silent.

"So uh, what do you think?"

"I think . . ." Sheppard stopped, staring into the hall ahead. "Down!"

"What? I—" Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder forcing him to the floor. He hit it hard, but experience, helped by a lack of air in his still-tender lungs, prevented him from crying out. A silent shadow dropped to its knees on the floor beside him, gun raised toward the corridor ahead. He fumbled for his gun before aiming it with shaking hands in the same direction as Sheppard's.

Several minutes crept by. Nothing. Finally, Rodney deemed it safe to ask, "As nice as this is Colonel, is there a reason we're on the floor, or did you just feel that I hadn't been thrown against enough hard surfaces today?"

A snort from Sheppard, who rose to his feet far too easily for a man with one arm splinted. Rodney thankfully clambered back to his own. "I thought I saw something."

"You _thought_ you saw something? Did I mention that I've already suffered intense back trauma since I came this galaxy? I'd appreciate not being thrown to the floor by my own _teammates_ unless there is actual danger!"

"Sure Rodney." The Colonel replied easily. "And I have no idea."

"You— what?"

"The device on 873? No idea; didn't understand a word you were saying."

"Oh . . . right."

"But," Sheppard continued, "I figure if you think it's worth another look, it's worth another look."

"Uh, I . . . Thanks."

"What I don't know is why you didn't just explain all this in the first place. I mean, if it was that important that you be the one to go back there, why not just say so?"

"Are you kidding? The minute I mentioned my theories Elizabeth, would have insisted on sending someone out there right away. I've been working on this for a month; no one else has studied the machine in such detail. If someone else was sent and they messed up . . . it could have been weeks before we could have another look, the mission list is so full."

"And?"

"And what?"

"Come on McKay, you didn't half-kill yourself today because you don't trust your geeks."

How could he explain the crushing need to make up for something that was irredeemable? He thought hard for a minute; Sheppard began to walk again, Rodney followed. The silence continued.

"Gaul," he said at last. Sheppard turned toward him in the darkness, but they didn't stop. He tried again. "Abrams."

"Sumner," came the soft reply. Rodney frowned. "Stackhouse." He opened his mouth to stop his friend, but the low, unyielding voice came again. "Malcolm; Everett; Ford." A pause. "I get it, McKay."

He got it. Typical. Only Sheppard would have gained full and complete understanding of something that Rodney couldn't get his obviously superior intellect around in the slightest. Must be something to do with all that time he'd spent meditating with the ancient wannabes. "Get what?"

"Call it survivor's guilt, post traumatic stress disorder, whatever you want. Everyone gets it. You lived, they died. It wasn't your fault. Accept it and move on."

That idiot! How dare he— huh? Rodney stopped. "Why is it still dark?"

"What?"

"It's still dark. This section should still be lit." He looked around in a futile yet instinctive gesture. "They must have taken out another generator."

"Damn!" Sheppard swore. "I had teams guarding the other generators."

"What? No one can fight those things! It's suicide!"

"Well we had to do _something. _These fish-people have two generators to go and then people start dying My teams out there _volunteered_ to hold off the enemy so your sorry ass can have time to find a way to kill these things."

"And they'll be very _dead_ people if you don't call them back!"

"If they can't hold the fish-people back long enough for _you_ to come up with a brilliant idea, then the clock starts ticking for everyone in Atlantis. So stop arguing and let's _go_ already." They stood staring at each other in the gloom, their breathing loud and harsh from pain and anger and, in Rodney's case at least, a good dose of fear.

"Fine." He muttered, "If your people want to be martyrs, that's up to them, but don't expect me to like it."

* * *

They reached McKay's lab with no further incident, but a grim, angry silence reigned, and the continuing dark did nothing to lighten the atmosphere. Sheppard's arm felt like a frozen lake being stomped on; the ice that was his skin fractured and broke with every movement, and he was so tired that he wanted nothing more than to pass out on the floor and let someone else sort out this huge mess.

But there was no one else. Just him and McKay, who was looking very much the worse for wear. He watched as McKay pulled the last remaining "battery" out of his pocket and slotted it into the appropriate panel. The lights flashed on. At least they wouldn't be in the dark.

"I need your stunner," the scientist snapped, throwing in a typical McKay finger snap that Sheppard wouldn't put up with for a second from anyone else. He unclipped the stunner with his good hand and reluctantly slid it over.

"Any idea how long this'll take, McKay?"

"As long as it takes, _Colonel_."

Definitely tense. It was going to be a long wait. As McKay began work, intermittently swearing and cursing various pieces of machinery, Sheppard settled down on a stool near the door and tried to concentrate on the corridor instead of on the molten barbed wire wrapping tighter and tighter around his arm. He wondered who'd been guarding the generator that just went out.

Apparently, it was going pretty well. Rodney had stopped cursing and started letting out the occasional hissed "yes!" which suggested he was actually getting somewhere. There had been no sign of any intruders and Sheppard was starting to think their luck might actually have changed.

But then there came the sound of running footsteps down the hall and he was up, backed against the doorway with his gun raised. "McKay! Down!" He whispered loudly. The command somehow penetrated the "I'm busy" cloud that surrounded Rodney, and with a brief, terrified glance at Sheppard, the scientist dropped down behind his desk. John counted in his head silently. Twenty meters away, seventeen, fifteen, twelve, ten . . . he swung out into the corridor, gun aimed . . .

And barely prevented himself from firing. Ronon and, somehow, Teyla were half running, half staggering toward the lab. Both looked more than a little beaten up; Teyla's bulked out clothing suggested her ribs had been wrapped. On seeing Sheppard, Ronon burst into a fierce grin and Teyla a relieved, if tired, smile.

"Colonel, I am glad to see you well." The Athosian greeted him even as she slid past him into the lab. Ronon followed, giving a brief wave to McKay, who was peering over the table like a sock puppet. The scientist scowled halfheartedly and got up, impressing Sheppard by immediately returning to his work. _Talk to the man with the gun, I'm busy,_ his posture declared.

That was fine with him.

"Teyla, not that I'm not glad to see you, but what the Hell are you doing here? What are either of you doing here?" he asked. The two stood on either side of the door now, guns held in ready. Not taking any chances, Sheppard did the same. "Anyone?"

"Teyla wanted to help; I figured we could use it. We were guarding one of the generators when those things showed up."

"Was anyone—"

"No, only Teyla and I were there. We kept them busy for a few minutes, but it was no good. We had to get out of there."

"You did the right thing," Sheppard assured him, casting a glance over to Teyla. "Beckett know you're here?" The Athosian looked down to the floor. "What is it with my team today? I mean, sure, the medicals aren't fun, but—"

"I believe we are not the only ones who have been avoiding Dr. Beckett," Teyla interrupted, casting a meaningful glance at his splinted arm.

"Point taken. So I ask again, what the Hell are you doing _here_?"

"One of them is on their way here." Ronon answered, his eyes still roaming the dark corridor. "He was coming when we left."

"What!" Rodney's voice piped up from behind them. Sheppard risked a glance at his friend. Total panic might work well for Rodney's brain, but it sure played hell with his hair. Did his own hair look that bad when he was stressed? Nah . . . he was never _that _stressed . . .

_Jesus, Sheppard, focus._

He took a deep breath and pointedly tried to ignore the slight tremble of his friend's hands. If it became a real problem, McKay would tell him. Rodney wasn't that proud. And he didn't have time to worry about his team's health right now, no matter how dreadful it might be.

"Keep working, McKay," he warned, turning back to Ronon and the increasingly sinister corridor. "How do they know where we are?"

The Satedan shrugged. "Beats me. We were backing out of there when one of them says McKay's up to something. Something about sensing human fea—"

"The alien impersonating Lieutenant Ford seems to be more sensitive than the others." Teyla interrupted. "He told the others of his kind that there was great fear from this area of the city. He identified it as coming from Dr. McKay."

"Hey!"

"_Work,_ McKay!" John yelled, nodding at Teyla to continue.

"There were five there in total; they seemed to be in disagreement over their course of action. The Ford creature did not wish to alter their plans, but the others wished to kill Dr. McKay before he could interrupt them. I am afraid that was the ultimate decision."

"Oh, that's just great." Rodney muttered behind him before breaking into a noisy coughing fit. John turned again to yell when the scientist held up a hand, "I know, I know—working!" Sheppard grimaced as his friend coughed again so hard that he had to lean on the table for support. No time for that now. He shook his head. "Carson's so going to have my ass for this."

"Colonel?"

"Nothing. Do you know which one is coming?"

"No." Ronon replied, his voice curiously flat. "But I think we're about to find out."

Deliberate, measured footsteps were coming down the dark hall. Sheppard lifted his gun again, trying to ignore the acid eating through his bad arm. He waited for the enemy with his team behind him.

And wondered just how the hell he was going to get them out of this one.

* * *

Sorry for the awfulness of this chapter! I haven't eaten anything save two bowls of cereral in three days so I'm blaming it on low blood sugar! Major whumping for the team, and especially dear Rodney up next!

Leave me a review to speed up my pen. And leave love for my wonderful andoverworked Beta!


	18. 1250 Fight and Flight

Rodney McKay was having a very bad day.

As if it weren't enough to have the flu, he'd been drowned, gassed, and electrocuted more times than should be humanly possible. And now, just to round off what must be the _worst_ day since he'd arrived in this miserable excuse for a galaxy (and that was really saying something), he was cowering behind a workbench, trying to put together a weapon that may or may not destroy killer alien fish.

One of whom was about twenty meters away from killing him.

"Who's there?" Sheppard called into the corridor. Who did he _think_ was there? The Easter bunny? Rodney reached across the floor for his toolkit and flinched at the exertion of abused muscles. _Not a good time . . . not a good time!_ He pulled out a bunch of wires and began rerouting various circuits.

"Last chance," Sheppard yelled. "If you don't answer, we'll open fire!" Was that a hint of panic in Sheppard's voice? "Ronon, Teyla, on three."

"Colonel Sheppard." A familiar voice echoed into the lab. Rodney froze, staring blindly at a mess of wires and components. Judging by the silence behind him, his team recognized the voice, too.

"Doctor Grodin." Teyla half whispered.

"No," Sheppard cut in harshly. "Grodin's dead. That thing is just wearing his face; I say we take it off. Fire!"

Shaking off the terror of impending doom, Rodney started to work again, rerouting, connecting, and frying circuits where necessary even as dozens of bullets pounded behind him.

* * *

Things _really_ weren't going well. Even stranded behind his flimsy excuse for a shelter, Rodney could tell that. The shooting had stopped quickly, bullets obviously being about as effective as they had been earlier—like firing at mist. Now all he could hear was painful cracks and thuds as something, or more likely someone, was slammed into the walls or floor. There was a strangled gasp for oxygen from Teyla, a grunt from Ronon, and the occasional swearword from Sheppard. But really, it was surprisingly quiet. You'd think there'd be a soundtrack, something dramatic . . . Maybe from Gladiator? That was pretty . . .

_Focus, Rodney, focus!_ Time to save Sheppard's scrawny ass again. And Ronon's and Teyla's, of course. Not that Teyla's ass was scrawny, in fact it was—

_Focus!_

He was nearly done. He _had_ to be nearly done, because if he wasn't, they were all dead. And he was _not_ going to be killed by some weird, semi-evolved fish. No, if Rodney McKay had to go out, it would be noble, heroic. It would be—

"McKay, have you finished yet?" Oh yes, the weapon thing. Definitely desperation in Sheppard's voice this time. He'd better finish fa— what the hell! Rodney ducked as someone came crashing into the wall behind him. Ronon, face bloody and limp as a wet towel. The ex-runner was completely and utterly dead to the world.

And he'd be a lot more than that if Rodney didn't _do_ something! He started to edge toward his fallen teammate just as Fish-Grodin's foot came around the desk.

_Smack!_ Sheppard, looking like an amateur boxer struggling up from his sixth KO in a single match, went hurtling into the creature just as Rodney ducked back. He was shaking from pain or exhaustion, injured arm hugged tight against what had to be a cracked rib or two; the Colonel looked as fit to fight as clowns were fit to conduct a funeral service. Though for Rodney's own funeral it might be curiously appropriate—this entire day had been a bad joke. _Alien fish_! Who gets killed by _fish_?

"What are you _doing,_ McKay?" Sheppard yelled. Rodney winced sympathetically as the Colonel took a punch to the ribs that barely missed his sling. Not that that dissuaded a gasping Teyla from aiming a kick at Fish-Grodin's back. "Get the damn thing working or we're all toast!"

"But Ronon—"

"Is dead if you don't. Do it!" And with that Sheppard bent over double, and to Rodney's horror (and increasing admiration), head-butted Fish-Grodin full in his faux human stomach.

* * *

Almost there, almost there! Just one more connection . . . one more, and . . . yes! Thank God!

"Got it!" Rodney yelled triumphantly, scrambling to his feet even as he registered an ominous silence.

Sheppard stood facing Fish-Grodin in the center of the room. Teyla was sprawled on her side a few meters away; she wasn't moving. Neither was Ronon, who was still slumped against the wall where he'd been thrown. For a minute, no one moved an inch.

Then Sheppard crumpled to the floor, grunting softly as his eyes slid shut. Fish-Grodin turned toward Rodney, Sheppard's P-90 in his hands.

And Rodney just stood there, frozen in place, unable even to look away from the dead eyes. He saw the gun in its hands, the indifference of its gaze. And finally his mind and his brain caught up with each other.

This wasn't Grodin.

Guns weren't a great technological marvel. You didn't need to be a genius to fire one, especially when the safety was off. Chances were there was a reason it was raising the barrel toward him. Chances were it knew what the gun was and how to use it.

Chances were, once it had killed him, it would have no qualms about finishing off the rest of his team.

Rodney stared, not for the first time (but maybe for the last), straight down the barrel of a gun. .

And then he turned shameless scientist tail and bolted for the door. It was only as he did so that he realized that the weapon he'd created, the weapon his team had sacrificed themselves for, their one and only hope, was still lying behind the desk. Right where he'd left it.

Damn.

* * *

It was a miracle that he got that far. The familiar drum beat of bullets was right behind him all the way. The fact he was physically incapable of running in a straight line probably helped. The fact the gun ran out of bullets after a few seconds helped even more. Fish-Grodin got the concept of reloading about as well as Rodney did, apparently, because he didn't even try. Instead, the frankly terrifying footsteps began after him, echoing ominously in the stupidly dark corridor. Would it have hurt the ancients to have installed a backup lighting system?

_"Don't think, McKay, just run_!"yelled his inner Sheppard.Panting and gasping for air, he ducked into another lab. This one was pitch black.

Big mistake. He knew that even as he stepped inside—there'd be no way out. So he stumbled out again and, oh _God_, Fish-Grodin was only a few meters behind him! Where could he go now? If he went back to the lit areas of the city, Fish-Grodin would just finish him and then go after everyone else. His best bet was to get to the weapon he'd just finished, but was there a chance in hell that he could do that? No, no, no, no, no!

Something slammed into him from behind. He went pinwheeling across the floor, and in a feat that didn't just demonstrate his incredible balance but frankly defied the laws of physics, he didn't fall. But _it_ was right behind him and went to hit him again. He ducked, and via some random stroke of luck that certainly hadn't been with him earlier that day, Fish-Grodin missed. Rodney ran back the way he had come, wondering what his chances were of actually getting to the weapon. And would it help if he could?

He was about five meters from the lab entrance when his luck came to an abrupt and undignified halt. A low kick swept his legs out from under him and he fell to the floor with a mixture of coughs and curses. Another kick to his back—one of the few places he _hadn't_ yet hurt badly today—and he swore with a fluency that could only be derived from hanging around with Sheppard. Fish-Grodin apparently wasn't impressed by his vocabulary as a sharp, massive weight slammed into his stomach, forcing him over onto his back where he lay gasping for air and mercy.

But of course there was none. The creature's face was so alien now he wondered how he could ever have thought it like Grodin's. Grodin had been a good man. He'd been funny and smart and above all, he had cared. Rodney's eyes met those of the _thing _staring down at him and he knew without a doubt that it didn't hate him. It felt nothing toward him whatsoever. His death was simply a means to an end. It was no good pleading with that indifference; the creature wasn't capable of mercy. As Rodney waited for the final blow, he closed his eyes against the empty gaze in the total certainty that he was going to die.

So it came as quite a surprise when a strange buzz swept across him and he heard a sound, part grunt, part groan. When he opened his eyes, Fish-Grodin's face was contorting with what appeared to be terrible grief. As the features dissolved, lost in a tide of water that crashed down about him, a golden gleam of energy ran briefly through the puddle before that, too, fizzled out. Only then did Rodney think it safe to take his eyes from the thing and look around.

Slumped against the lab door, a dark silhouette against the bright lights, was Sheppard. He was clinging to the doorframe, looking like hell on a bad day, with Rodney's newest toy cradled in his previously good arm. The Colonel grinned widely before losing the battle against gravity and collapsing to the floor. Rodney called out to him, wanting to get up, to check on his friends. He tried.

But suddenly, lying down seemed like a very good idea.

* * *

Oh no! Have our heroes been over-whumped? Will Rodney ever get up again? Can he possibly stumble over into chapter 19? And what does he really think of Teyla's- 

Never mind.

I got many lashes from the adverb whip, the cliche whip, and the you're-taking-too-long whip before my Beta declared this fit for posting! Leave her much love in hopes she will continue to lash me on to greater heights. :)

Oh, and take a second to review:P


	19. 1320 When the dust settles

Rodney wasn't sure how long he'd been lying there. Not long enough, as far as his abused and beaten body was concerned. The pain was sharp enough to keep him from losing consciousness, and also quite enough to be a strong deterrent to getting up. Better to just lay there, blinking at the shadowy ceiling.

"McKay."

That voice was really, really irritating.

"McKay!"

Couldn't it shut up already? Something solid hit his tender chest, seriously agitating his probably-broken ribs.

"_God!_" he hissed, hand fumbling for whatever had hit him. Stiff fingers closed around the cold butt of a Baretta. Taking a deep breath, he rolled onto his side and stared incredulously at Sheppard, who was slumped against lab doorway.

"Did you just _throw _your gun at me?"

Sheppard shrugged, "Closest thing to hand. It's out of bullets, anyway."

"That's not the point!"

"Just get up, okay? I need you to check on Ronon and Teyla."

There was something strange about Sheppard's voice—an odd tightness that made Rodney glance over again. "Why don't you? You're closer."

"Because, _Rodney_, I'm having a little trouble moving right now. Now get up and see if they're okay."

Did Sheppard just admit he was hurt? Really not good. In a tactical situation, he only did that when there was no point in denying it.

When there was absolutely nothing elsehe could do.

Damn it.

Rodney swallowed and forced air through a suddenly tight throat. His eyes watered as he forced unwilling muscles to sit, but he didn't cry out—an achievement he was very proud of until he realized he was only halfway up.

Well, he was a genius. He'd just have to figure out the rest.

It took him a few minutes to gain something resembling vertical posture. His legs were stiff and clumsy, but somehow he staggered across the lab. He was a panting, quivering mess when at last he reached Sheppard, but with the help of the door frame, he managed to keep his feet.

Sheppard was hunched over his "good" arm, clutching the other one in a death grip. His skin was as pale as condensation on a window, and his breaths were coming in short, deliberate bursts, carefully measured out. Rodney wobbled precariously next to him, not really sure what to do.

"Do you want me to, uh—"

"Just . . . check on them."

"Right, checking." He accidentally tripped over Sheppard, half hoping for some sarcastic remark, but he got nothing but a strained grunt. Apologizing through his clenched teeth just seemed too hard and probably unnecessary anyway, so Rodney just headed over to Teyla, who was sprawled on the floor.

"Teyla?" He tried before tapping her arm. "Teyla? Look, you _have_ to wake up. Sheppard's hurt and Ronon's still out and God knows if I can—" Wait, was that a twitch?

"Teyla? Are you awake? If you are, do you think you could—"

"Rodney?" his teammate murmured.

"Oh, thank God!" He slumped by her side in relief, watching her with eager eyes as she tried to sit up. Suddenly realizing that he should help, he offered her his one good hand. She looked awful, at least as bad as Sheppard, but she was alive! And Teyla always knew what to do. She could even handle Ronon . . .

Oh, yeah.

"Look, Teyla," he began, "I need to go check on King Kong over there. Can you get over to Sheppard? He's gone and done something to his arm again."

The Athosian frowned, despite some impressive swelling covering about half her face. "Is he alright?"

"Noooo. He's not. That's why I need you to try to talk to him. Think you can manage that?" He was well aware that he was acting like a jerk, but it helped him cope so he didn't bother trying to stop. Fortunately, Teyla had been around him long enough to know that his sarcasm wasn't really directed at her, and she merely nodded before she began half sliding, half crawling across the floor, dragging her left leg behind her. He bit his lip, wondering if he should mention it, before concluding there was nothing he could do to help anyway. Instead, Rodney managed a sort of lumbering walk over to Ronon, sinking down beside him gratefully.

"Ronon?" He prodded the huge man; nothing. He really did look bad. There was blood all over his face, and was he even breathing? Rodney sent up a silent prayer to a God he didn't believe in even as his shaking hand reached out to check for a pulse . . .

And suddenly a hand was around his neck cutting off his already strained breathing, and he found himself looking straight into the dark and dangerous eyes of a person who even the Wraith feared.

"Ronon!" He tried to speak but managed only a choked gasp.

"Well, I see you're feeling better," came an amused, if tired, voice from across the room. Sheppard? Amused? The idiot was supposed to be in pain, and . . . ugh! Choking here!

"Much." Ronon replied evenly, talking over Rodney's shoulder, his grip unchanging. "You?"

"Broken ribs, arm. Concussion. Same old. You might want to let McKay go."

Ronon glanced back. "Oh, yeah." Suddenly the pressure on his throat was gone. Rodney dropped to the floor, gasping like a fi— like a . . . well, he'd think of something eventually. "Sorry 'bout that."

"Yeah, right!" He huffed indignantly, rubbing bruised skin. "Last time I volunteer to wake _you_ up!"

"Sure." Ronon replied, voice as irritatingly easy as ever. "Teyla?"

"I am fine."

Sure she was, shaking like a tree in an earthquake, but her voice was as steady as ever when she asked, "How are you?"

"Hit my head. Cracked some ribs. McKay?"

Rodney flinched. "What?"

"How're you holding up?"

That question from that particular source was very unexpected. Sure, Sheppard would ask sometimes; as team leader, he had to. And Teyla was practically a saint. But Ronon . . . he met the huge man's eyes, about to list his many injuries from the day, when something in his teammate's expression stopped him.

"Fine. I'm fine." He replied, doing his best to keep his voice level.

Ronon just grinned again and grunted out something that sounded like "Good," then glanced over at Sheppard. "So what now?"

* * *

They were all gathered around his radio, which was, of course, the only one intact. Sheppard's was smashed into several hundred pieces, Teyla's was missing, and Ronon's was unaccountably soaked through. When Rodney complained that the things didn't come cheap, all he got was a raised eyebrow and a grin, which would have been oddly reassuring if not for the blood stained teeth. As it was, he just grunted and contacted Elizabeth. He'd just finished telling her about their success when he realized that she was trying to tell _them s_omething. And it was more than a little terrifying.

"We tried to lock down the doors, but nothing stopped them." Elizabeth's voice was strained and anxious. "They seem to know how ancient technology works; nothing we did stopped them. They were everywhere. The teams guarding the control tower tried to fight them—"

"I think we all know how that turned out." Sheppard interrupted, his features tight. "Was anyone . . ." There was a pause. Rodney exchanged glances with Teyla; the concern in her eyes reflected his own.

"No," finally came the answer.

"Oh, thank God."

"It was very strange," Elizabeth continued. "We were surrounded; they were in the gateroom, the control room, everywhere! Captain Wilson was down, the rest of our security team were in trouble . . . and then they just stopped."

"They _stopped_?" Rodney repeated, his voice going up nearly an octave. His teammates flinched simultaneously—concussions all around, then.

"Yes, Rodney. And before you ask, I don't know why. They just froze in place."

"And then?" He prompted, ignoring the grimaces from the rest of his team. _His _head had been hurting all day, too, but no one had bothered to lower their voices for him.

"Then we ran, Rodney." Was that amusement or exasperation in her voice? He could never tell. "Good thing, too. About ten seconds after we left, there was this horrible noise."

"Noise?"

"It was like . . . like fingernails down a blackboard and metal against metal and something crashing against the walls all at once. It was horrible."

There was a long silence.

"Where are you now?" Sheppard asked with the same grim determination that was clearly keeping his eyes open.

"We're in the mess hall. Colonel Caldwell is here and we're trying to—"

"Caldwell?" Rodney interrupted. "Of course, the Daedalus is here."

"Yes, though they were on lockdown until not long ago. I thought we needed the extra manpower."

"Yes yes yes, that won't help." He said absently, his mind working on hyperdrive. "These things took down the three musketeers here; you really think a few of Caldwell's barbarians are going to make any difference?" He ignored the growl from Ronon, the faintest outlines of a plan forming in his brain . . .

"But with your weapon—"

"That won't do any good. Not unless they come one at a time at a moderate pace and line up to be shot."

"Then what—?"

"I have an idea. Patch me through to Hermiod."

"Feel like explaining what you're doing?" Sheppard asked wryly as Elizabeth called the Daedalus.

"No, not really."

"McKay . . ."

"Thinking, Colonel."

"What—"

"Thinking!"

* * *

Sheppard had no idea what McKay was doing. And to be honest, it was difficult to care. The pain in his arm had gone from just bearable to really _not_; his ribcage felt like a sack of knives, sharp edges cutting and piercing every time he took a breath; and the only reason he was still conscious was because his brain was too battered to process all the pain and come to the conclusion that he'd be happier out cold. The rest of his team was little to no better off; in a bizarre twist, McKay was only one even semi-mobile. The scientist was arguing over the radio with their resident Asgard, mixing detailed instructions with colourful expletives and the occasional quasi-rant when Hermiod disagreed, or worse, tried to correct him on some point.

"Look, I think _I _of all people know how this should be done!" Rodney was blustering, "and if you pick up your oh-so-superior intellect from whatever Laundromat you left it at, I think you'll see that I'm right!"

Apparently, even one of the most advanced races in the universe wasn't safe from McKay's scorn. He hoped they didn't take it personally and wondered if McKay practiced being offensive or if it was just an innate talent.

"Since we have been cut off from the gate," Teyla added quietly, "would it not be advisable to begin evacuating on the Daedalus?"

Sheppard shook his head, regretting the action immediately as the dragon at the base of his skull went and got some friends. "The Daedalus's life support couldn't handle everyone; it could take maybe half the expedition. Just getting there would be a problem. The Daedalus's targeting sensors aren't working properly—"

"Something I was intending to fix today before I was so rudely interrupted," McKay injected before continuing his increasingly heated conversation with Hermiod.

"So beaming people out would be a problem." Sheppard trailed off as Teyla nodded her comprehension. Never mind the Daedalus; _he_ had a limited oxygen supply. Unlike McKay, who seemed to be able to talk for hours without breathing. Probably a good thing, considering his newly acquired tendency for deep-sea diving.

"What? Yes, that's fine. Just . . . get it done." Rodney muttered, the radio against his ear. A red blush briefly colored the scientist's features, and Sheppard wondered what the little gray guy had said. "Yeah, um, you too." Rodney stammered before signing off. When Sheppard caught his eye, he just mumbled, "Wishing us luck," before putting down the radio.

"So, are we going?"

Sheppard exchanged a cynical smile with Ronon before replying, "Where would we be going, McKay?"

"Stop the bad guys, save Atlantis . . . you know, same as last week." Rodney cast a wary gaze around them. "I mean, it'll take Hermiod awhile to complete the modifications, providing he can do so without my help of course."

"McKay, what modifications? What _is_ your plan?"

The scientist started. "Didn't I tell you?"

"No, you didn't."

"I'm sure I—" Sheppard shot him a level ten glare, the only one even remotely capable of shutting McKay up. "Well, never mind. No time now. If they're at the control tower, then they probably only have one generator to go. We need to hold them off until Hermiod is ready."

"Ready to do what, exactly?"

"Save the day. Hopefully. Possibly. So, you coming? "

"McKay . . ." Sheppard let a shallow breath whistle through his teeth, "We're not going."

"_What?"_

"Rodney, you must see that we are all badly injured." Teyla explained, her soft voice hitching a little.

"Well, yes, but . . . you're soldiers! Heroes even, occasionally." Sheppard had to smile a little at Rodney's qualification. "You have to— I mean can't you—"

"McKay, we're soldiers, not supermen." Ronon cleared his throat, and Sheppard revised, "Well, mostly." When Teyla sent him a glare, he rolled his eyes and added, "Okay, partly!" He sighed, flinching as his abused lungs protested. "We can't go with you, not this time."

"But I . . . what am I supposed to do? I can't face those things alone!"

"I'll get you an escort." Sheppard mentally went through his list of people-I'd-trust-McKay-with. Problem was they were mostly in this room or injured, and it was a short list to begin with. "But if you're right—"

"I'm always right Colonel."

"—and they really are at the last generator, you need to hurry. You've got the weapon. Just distract them till Hermoid's done. I assume it won't take too long?"

"Well, no, but I—"

"McKay." He interrupted, meeting the man's panicked eyes. "You can do this. Just keep them busy. Talk to them, or something."

"_Talk to them?_ Colonel, I just killed one of them, and judging by what Elizabeth told us, they're well aware of the fact. I doubt they'll be interested in a chat!"

"That's why you're armed. And why I'm sending a security team with you." He reached for the radio, ignoring muscles that argued vehemently against the movement. But McKay surprised him by pulled it away.

"Oh no. If those things can take out Tarzan, Cat-Woman, and The Flash, I'm not about to trust my life to any sidekick wannabes. I'll go alone, thank you very much!"

"Don't be an idiot. You wouldn't last five minutes." Sheppard dismissed Rodney's argument with a tired sigh, ignoring Teyla's mystified expression as he took in the grey-faced, slightly trembling scientist; he'd be lucky if he made it out of the room. Rodney glared and seemed about to begin a tirade that would last a good hour (by which time they'd be dead anyway) when Ronon interrupted.

"Let him go."

They all stared at Ronon. Even Teyla looked shocked.

"What?" Sheppard managed.

"He's right. No one is going to be able to fight those things for long. Only chance he'll have is if he can avoid getting into a fight. And McKay avoids fights better than anyone else around here." Rodney seemed to be caught between taking offense and agreeing, his tired, drawn features at least regaining some color. Sheppard just shook his pounding head, about to argue when Teyla spoke up.

"You must let him try, Colonel. If Rodney cannot distract them from their purpose, I believe no one can." Rodney opened his mouth as though to protest, then shut it again and kept quiet—a first. They were all looking at him, Ronon's grim features shaded grotesquely in red and grey, Teyla's face swollen yet steady, and Rodney's eyes stiff and unreadable. Was that hope or just bleak determination blended in with Rodney's panic? Sheppard looked over his exhausted, beaten-down team; they were so far beyond hope, they weren't even in the same ballpark anymore. But this was all they had.

"Go." He said finally, barely recognizing his own voice. Rodney jumped; he hadn't really expected this, then.

"What, you mean—?"

"Go. I'll tell Elizabeth. Just keep them occupied, and if you get into trouble, run like hell."

"Run away from the scary homicidal aliens. Think I've got that, thanks." They all watched as the scientist struggled to his feet, "Shall I, uh . . . do you need a med team?"

"Can't have 'em wandering around; too dangerous." Ronon replied. Sheppard nodded tired agreement.

"We'll get ourselves down there." _Somehow,_ he added mentally, wondering if they'd all be able to get that far. They might be better off waiting. Though what trouble that could cause later . . . if there _was_ a later. Rodney nodded, twitchy and nervous now, turning toward the door as though it might bite him.

"McKay." Sheppard began, pausing as Rodney turned back.

"What? What now? If you hadn't noticed, Colonel, I'm about to embark on a dangerous mission to save Atlantis, _again_. So if this is some snide remark about me looking _nervous_—"

"I just thought you'd want this?" Sheppard almost smiled, gesturing to the adapted stunner still slung over his shoulders. There was a pause.

"Oh. Right. Yes," Rodney muttered, holding out his unburned hand for the gun. As Sheppard passed him the weapon, he noticed Teyla duck her head to hide a smile, then flinch as her inflamed features objected. Ronon's dark eyes never left McKay, who, now equipped, straightened and glanced nervously around them all.

"Right." The scientist inched toward the door, his steps stiff and rigidly controlled. At the doorway he paused, turning again, a pale ghost against the dark corridor beyond. Rodney opened his mouth as though to speak, then cut himself off, desperation welling in his eyes.

Sheppard met his wild, darting gaze and held it. "Good luck, McKay." He said for all the world as though they were just placing some ill-favored bet in the mess. The panic on the scientist's face flickered and then set into resolution—somewhere in there was the Doctor who'd stepped through the Stargate and never looked back.

"You too," Rodney replied, sounding oddly calmer than he had all day. Sheppard watched as his friend half raised a hand in farewell to Teyla, nodded grimly to Ronon, and met his gaze once more.

Then he was gone, just a few heavy footfalls in the corridor and a harsh cough in the dark.

* * *

Finally anew update! Big action next chapter. Hope you enjoyed the whumpage :) Poorlil Rodney, all on his own now. I wonder how Carson is coping with the huge influx into the infimary.

Only what? Three, maybe four chapters left now? Thanks so much for all the lovely reviews, and the more frightening ones. Send hugs to my dear Beta who is still languishing, yet continues to bravely edit through my hideous grammar.

You know the drill, read and review :)


	20. 1340 Going it alone

Rodney walked, stumbled, staggered, and finally crawled a few hundred meters before collapsing to the floor in an unspectacular heap. The head-rush that had fuelled his bravado in front of Sheppard had completely faded. His adrenal gland was about as useful as a depleted ZPM. He'd come to the end of what he felt was a stunning display of endurance. Dr. Rodney McKay was done. Completely and utterly done.

But he couldn't be, could he? Because the city was in trouble, _again_. And he was the only one who could save it, _again_. And he had to go distract the Fish-aliens because if he didn't, they would disable the last Naquadah reactor. If they did _that,_ they would have enough of the damn stuff to trigger a cataclysmic chain reaction that, if it didn't blow up the city first, would certainly kill them all through radiation poisoning. So he had to drag his rotting carcass down to the control tower in the vain hope that his plan, his far-fetched, one-chance-in-a-thousand, crazy, _Carter-worthy_ plan, would somehow save the day.

Despite the fact that he was in pain, feverish, and exhausted. And he was going to throw up. Again.

It was only after the retching subsided that he realized someone was talking to him. The tinny voice came through his pocket . . . the radio. He meant to leave it with Sheppard so that the Colonel could explain what the hell Rodney was doing going after the Fish-people single-handed. But he'd forgotten. Ah well. His hands were cold and clumsy as they fumbled for the radio, completely lacking his usual finesse with technology. He took a deep breath to quell the residual nausea, flinched as something in his ribcage protested, and spoke shakily into the radio.

"Hello?"

"Rodney!" Are you okay? And how is the rest of your team? Hermiod told me what you've been doing; are you crazy?" Elizabeth's frantic voice threw questions at him, questions he didn't have time for.

"No, injured, and probably. Look," he carried on, not sure how long his voice would last, "Sheppard, Teyla, and Ronon are hurt pretty badly. You need to get a med team to them as soon as it's safe. They're still in the lab down the east corridor."

"What about you? Hermiod said you're planning to—"

"I know it's risky, but it's all we've got. It's either that or let them take Atlantis." There was silence from the radio. "I'm heading to the control tower now." _Sort of._ "I'll try to buy Hermiod some time. With any luck, the plan will work and we'll all be laughing."

"You're going to face them alone? That's—"

"Uncharacteristically heroic?"

"I was going to say crazy."

Rodney scowled. "Well, I must be catching it from Sheppard. Elizabeth, I don't mean to be rude but we're running out of time here; I really have to get moving again."

"Moving? Why did you stop?" He didn't answer. "You said the others were hurt; how about you? Rodney?"

"It's nothing."

"Really? Because you weren't looking so good earlier."

"I'm fine."

"Rodney, I can get a security detail to meet you. You can give them the weapon, head down to the infirmary . . . You've done enough."

"No. No I haven't. As long as these _things _are still in the city, I haven't done enough." He struggled to his feet somehow,. He carried on, overriding any reply, "Believe me, there is nothing I would like better than to let someone else handle all this. But I can't; accidental or not, I started this, and I'm not giving up till it's over."

Silence for a moment, then Elizabeth's voice. "You really have been spending too much time with Sheppard."

Rodney leaned against the wall. "I know. That sounded almost heroic didn't it?"

"Almost." A pause, "You know this isn't your fault."

"Oh, I don't know. I haven't screwed up really badly in a few weeks. Something had to go wrong."

"Rodney . . ."

"I know. Inappropriate humour. Look I have to get going. I'll call you when it's done."

"When it's done then." His friend's voice replied, clear and strong, the words somehow familiar. He nodded, forgetting she couldn't see.

"See you soon. McKay out." He turned off the radio, grit his teeth, and, muttering "tally-ho" under his breath, started moving again.

* * *

The control tower was still lit when he got there. The generator for that section was far more difficult to access, protected as it was by several codes and a heavily sealed container, as opposed to the others, which were usually just protected by a security detail. That would slow them down somewhat, but they'd get through. The generator was in the control room. He'd have to—

Oh God.

He'd just walked into the Gateroom, planning to go up the central stairs to the control tower. Probably not a sound military strategy, but he was a scientist, not a soldier. He'd thought the gateroom was empty as he'd approached—there was no sound, and his admittedly blurred vision caught no movement.

But they were there. About ten human forms stood around him, like grotesque wax dummies, until he blundered into their midst.

Now they all turned toward him. He was no expert on body language, especially the body language of psychotic alien fish who had taken on human form in order to take over Atlantis, but they didn't look pleased to see him. In fact, they looked rather as though they'd be very glad to see him dead. And more than able to make that happen.

The closest moved lightening fast toward him, and Rodney didn't think; he just reacted. He fired.

Like with Fish-Grodin, there was a second of brief horror before she . . . _it_ crumpled into nothing but water, that same crackle of energy running through briefly before expiring. He blocked out a wave of revulsion at what he'd just done, killing would never come naturally to him, and clutched the gun tightly to his side, waiting for the next to approach.

Instead, they all froze. Staring at him, at the spot where their companion had been. And then it began. The sound that Elizabeth had described, an inhuman, wild keening that sliced right through him. It was the worst thing he'd ever heard; it took every ounce of willpower and self preservation not to let go of the weapon and clutch his ears. Rodney rallied together every failing reserve of strength and ran for the central stairs.

He was at the top when he saw fish-Ford, standing on the landing, waiting for him.

He'd only ever seen that particular expression on Ford's face once before. It was back on the planet where they'd found Ronon, right after Rodney had shot him. Agony, fear, betrayal, and anger all twisted up together. It was painful just to see, and Rodney flinched, the weapon in his arms jerking inadvertently toward Fish-Ford.

That was probably what saved his life.

The creature stepped back, its dark eyes never leaving the weapon. "That won't save you, McKay. Nothing will. You and your murderous kind will be wiped out and we shall reclaim Atlantis."

"Reclaim? What do you mean? And we aren't murderers!"

"You killed two of us!"

"And you've killed at least four of my people today!" The keening had stopped; Rodney longed to look around to check that none of them were behind him. But he suspected it would be the last thing he ever did.

"Why can't you just leave?" he tried instead. "We're no threat to you. We didn't even know you existed till you started trying to kill us."

"You were building weapons—"

"To defend ourselves. Against the Wraith. Heard of them? Life sucking vampires who'll eat you given a chance?"

Fish-Ford's features tightened. "Of course we know of the Wraith! They destroyed many of us, trapped the rest for years. They are the great enemy of our people."

"Then you know why we need to defend ourselves. And why we need Atlantis. It's the best place we can be to fight the Wraith. We don't want to hurt you, but we will defend ourselves."

"One man? With one weapon? Your people must care nothing for you to send you here."

"Like you cared for the guy you sent after us? My people care. But they know I can look after myself." _Kind of._ "And if you think this is all we have to fight you with, you're sadly mistaken."

"Really?" Oh he was _so_ dead. Fish-Ford hadn't moved, but he was certain as hell that someone was behind him. "So what else does the illustrious Doctor McKay have to show us? More guns? We are well aware of your capability for killing, Doctor. It is one of the many ways in which you demonstrate your unworthiness to live in this great City."

"Killing," Rodney replied, forcing his voice not to shake. "Like you killed us, do you mean? Like those men you slaughtered, who didn't even attack you first?"

"They were violent, inferior. They did not deserve to live in Atlantis. Or at all.

That was enough. "Violent? Inferior?" he spat out, taking a step toward the alien who stood still, impassive. "Well, if I'm going to die, I might as well prove your point." He aimed his gun straight at Fish-Ford. "I can kill all of you." He announced quietly. "I can wipe you all out in one go. And any left in the ocean nearby. And don't think I'll stop there. I'll go round the entire _planet_ if need be, to search out the survivors!" Rodney snarled, finger trembling on the trigger, longing to end this monstrosity that wore Ford's face. "Our ship out there, you'd have noticed it parked in the east pier if you'd bothered to look out the window, has a weapon like this one. Only it's a bigger one attached to one hell of a big ship, so you can imagine its range is a little further. And how do I know this? Because not half an hour ago I told a very uncooperative little grey alien how to build this big weapon. The weapon is, by the way, more than capable of wiping out every one of you in this city."

"You lie. The power of such a weapon would destroy Atlantis."

"According to my calculations, it won't. But on rare, very rare occasions, I have been known to be wrong. And today has been more than a little stressful. So yes, there is a chance that if fired, the weapon will cause massive structural damage and destroy Atlantis forever."

"Killing you and your people, too. You are not capable of such an act."

"Hello? Didn't you just spend the last ten minutes telling me how violent and inferior we are? Of course I'm capable. And since you intend to kill us all anyway, what do I have to lose?"

Fish-Ford's expression remained impassive, a stark contrast to the earlier hatred. "You would destroy our city, the city we built before your kind had even begun, merely to avenge yourselves? You are truly a malicious race."

"I know. Life sucks, doesn't it?" Rodney said with feeling. His hands were shaking on the gun now. He had to— wait.

Their city?

The city they built?

But that meant . . . that would mean . . . no. Oh no no no no no.

"Oh God." He breathed. The world swayed, even as his gaze fixed on Fish-Ford. The possessiveness over Atlantis, their familiarity with the technology, their incorporeal state in the water . . . it all made sense in a truly terrifying way.

"Are you the _Ancients_?"

* * *

Oh no! Are the Ancients really alien fish? Do they really want Atlantis back? Can they be beaten? And will Rodney _ever_ get some sleep?

If you want to find out, spend ten seconds writing me a review :) And leave my Beta love, she is sadly over-worked despite illness! Though I have been told I used a semi-colon correctly at least twice in this chapter!

All Hail the Semi-Colon Queen!


	21. 1350 Say what?

Fish-Ford stared at him. "No."

Oh, there went that brilliant hypothesis.

"We are the 'Lantians."

"What? That's what I—oh never mind." Speaking was becoming too much of an effort to argue. "Ancients is our name for you. You are the race that built the Stargates, right? Ascended to another plane of existence?"

If it was possible to frown without moving a muscle, Fish-Ford managed it. "We are. And we are not."

"Oh, great, a riddle." Rodney's vision listed about twenty degrees before abruptly righting itself, a queasy reminder that now was not the time to be sarcastic. "Look, neither of us have time to waste here. You didn't go to all this trouble just to kill a few insolent humans, who, by the way, would do anything just to _meet_ the Ancients; you want the city. Why?"

"We'll waste no more time on you, Dr. McKay." Fish-Ford's hands twitched, a precursor to some action that Rodney was very certain he wouldn't like.

"Oh, you will!" His words rushed out before Fish-Ford could move. "Unless you really want to be wiped out by what is possible one of the most ingenious weapons ever built. With a little help from an Asgard, if you still remember who _they _are."

The alien's gaze lost some of its intensity. "We recall the Asgard. If they are helping you, then they are far from the enlightened race they once were."

"Or maybe you're the ones who've gotten seriously screwed up over the years." But enough was enough. If this went on much longer he was going to fall over, and that really would be embarrassing. "So would you just tell me what you want? We might even be able to help."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because despite appearances, we're actually a very friendly race . . . when aliens aren't trying to kill us, at least. And if you are the Ancients, then we could use _your_ help some time soon. The Wraith are still around and they've retained their antisocial habit of using the galaxy as a gigantic all-you-can-eat buffet." He paused, gasped for oxygen, bent a little at the waist to ease some of the pressure from his battered chest. As his eyes hit the floor he noticed something—a semicircle of feet right behind his. Motionless, boot-clad feet.

He gulped, and then with every thread of willpower he had left, forced his eyes back to Fish-Ford's.

"So how about you tell me what's going on and we take it from there."

"It is beyond your understanding."

That was it. Death threats were fine; he was used to those. But no one, no matter what their plane of existence, got to insult his intelligence. "I'm a smart man. Try me."

Fish-Ford's smile grew into a grin that was no less terrifying for its familiarity.

"Very well."

* * *

"Uh . . . what are you doing?" Rodney asked, trying not to edge away. Fish-Ford had taken a couple of steps towards him. The alien was, in fact, mere inches away. Hadn't he heard of personal space? Of course, living in an ocean was probably hell for your social skills . . .

"You wanted to know what we are. I will show you."

"Can't you just, you know, tell me?" He swallowed and took a small step back, stumbling over his own feet in his haste to put some distance between them.

"Impossible. Our state of being is too complex for your language. If your fear prevents you from—"

"Fear? What fear? I'm not afraid of you! Go on, show me." His gritted teeth and tightly closed eyes belied his words, but he couldn't help it.

A soft laugh, and then nothing for a few seconds. And then a warm touch on his temple that grew hot as it burrowed into his skull. He thought he might be screaming, but he could hear nothing, see nothing.

When sensation returned to him, he was somewhere else entirely.

He was in a large hall. The décor resembled Atlantis in style, but everything was a shade fainter than it should be. He waved a hand in front of his face; there was a slight blurring of the edges. Like looking through a microscope that was a little out of focus.

"So you can communicate at this level." Rodney turned, far faster than he could have a minute ago. Fish-Ford stood behind him, face impassive. "Surprising. I did not believe your kind had evolved to even this—"

"How about we leave the petty insults 'til later and you explain where the hell we are?" Rodney snapped.

"This is a mental construct I have created in your mind." The alien replied, completely unruffled. "It is the easiest way to show you our nature."

"Then show me, already." This whole mental thing was making him nervous. Could it cause brain damage? Even if Fish-Ford knew, he probably wouldn't care. It would be just his luck to survive everything else he'd been put through today only to be turned into a vegetable for the rest of his life. "And if this is in my head, why do you still look like Ford?"

"This is how you perceive us physically; to take another shape would cause confusion."

"Don't you have a face of your own? Have to steal his instead?"

"Yes." The answer was given coolly, and Rodney frowned. But Fish-Ford had already turned away from him, looking over to another part of the "room."

Mere meters away, people were kneeling. Maybe six altogether, but they were shadowy and indistinct; he couldn't make out their faces. Slowly, a white glow began to emanate from them.

"Millennia before your time, my kind learned how to reach another plane of existence, as you called it. We ascended." Fish-Ford's voice had an undercurrent Rodney couldn't quite decipher. A kind of wistfulness, resigned in its longing. "We had worked toward this state for many centuries. But it was slow, and even as we began the process, we were unsure of what would happen."

The glow had intensified; he could see some faces now. An old man, eyes heavenward as though praying. A girl, hands loosely clasped on her knees, face as serene as in sleep. There was an aura around them, white radiance funnelling upward. Their shapes began to merge with the brilliant light.

"Ascension took energy, far more than we anticipated. Even as our collective consciousness rose, there were fractures. Splinters of thought and awareness, lost, incomplete, without order. So we were born."

As Fish-Ford spoke, the process in front of them continued. The white light faded, the people disappeared. But even as Rodney began to turn away, he saw them—tendrils of white light like floating lightening, darting randomly about the room. He could sense their panic.

"We were confused. There was no cohesion, no structure. We were not single entities, but nor were we part of the whole; just fragments of identity and consciousness."

The tendrils continued to flit from place to place but began to slow. They met occasionally and became one. Rodney glanced at Fish-Ford, who was gazing, rapt, at the conjured scene.

"Over years, we found one another. We developed patterns of thought. Never again would we be single entities, but we could think again; we had coherence." The alien's voice grew cold. "The others did not notice our absence. We were lost. So we returned to Atlantis, our home, and waited."

The scene shifted. Now the room was one of the countless balconies in Atlantis. Rodney blinked rapidly, disorientated. The tendrils had become the "fireflies" he had seen earlier today. They flew past, a random bunch of tiny lights, plunging into the ocean.

"Millennia passed. The saltwater of the ocean made an easy path for our energies to travel, and over time, we gained abilities such as this. We learned to mimic form and speech, even thought. But our brethren never returned for us. Without them, we cannot ascend, and we have no wish to become physical entities again, even if that were possible."

The balcony scene faded, and Rodney was staring at the "room" again. Fish-Ford was standing in front of him.

"Atlantis is ours. It is all that remains for us. We have no interest in the Wraith anymore; let your species be concerned with them. Our fight should have been over long before."

The "room" was fading and Rodney with it. He tried to cry out but it was dark again, a suffocating blackness that crept down his lungs and into his head. He gripped his skull and tried to force it out . . .

And didn't even realize he was back until light fed through his fastened eyelids and burned the blackness away. Fish-Ford was still in front of him, still uncomfortably close.

"So Doc," the quasi-ancient remarked in Ford's voice, dark eyes staring dangerously into his. "How exactly are you thinking of helping?"

Oh no.

* * *

Rodney backed away, feet moving like rats, scurrying. He collided with something—_someone_. He didn't need to turn to know they had gathered behind him. Even if Hermiod was nearly finished, it wouldn't be enough. These were _Ancients_, or at least a part of them. He'd thought the chances of the weapon working were bad before, but now . . . they would probably find a way to stop it long before it was actually fired. He was still human. A smart, incredible, brilliant, human? Yes. But an Ancient? Definitely not.

He was so dead.

"Afraid?" Fish-Ford asked, still in that casual, _Ford_ manner. It was seriously creepy. "I guess that means you can't help, then. Thought as much."

"So uh, what now?" Rodney asked, trying to keep his voice light. Sheppard wouldn't panic; he'd have some cutting remark to make. But Sheppard wasn't here, god damn it! How he wished the irritating Colonel were. If only for company.

Fish-Ford shrugged. "Now you die. As for your weapon, we'll figure something out. Death doesn't scare us, not like you. When you've been around as long as we have, life gets dull, even painful."

Rodney swallowed, fear and pain making a knot in his neck. "But . . . we're, we're like you; your descendents! You can't kill us."

"You forget, McKay. We aren't Ancients. We've been fractured, in constant pain for thousands of years! The only thing that sustained was the knowledge that our city was still here, waiting for us and for them. And now you're invaded it, infected it!" The alien turned away. "Goodbye, McKay. Be grateful you're the first. It'll save you the pain of watching your friends die."

Friends . . . see, that's what these guys lacked. No wonder they were so bad tempered—

An arm suddenly snaked around his neck. He choked, trying to pull it away. Oh, come on! Strangling him to death? They could at least shoot him . . . clearly, whatever God was in this messed up universe obviously wanted him to suffer. Why did all the Ancients in this galaxy hate him? First—

Oh God, that was it.

With a Herculean effort, he managed to carve out an inch of breathing space. "Wait!" He gasped, fighting to stay conscious; if he passed out now it was all over. Endgame. "You want to ascend? What if I can arrange that?"

Fish-Ford's back remained turned and the arm remained round his neck, but it didn't strangle again. There was a moment of total silence. Rodney glared at the Ancient-wannabe's back with all the defiance he had left, daring him to walk away.

Even so, He was truly surprised when Fish-Ford turned back and replied, "I'm listening."

* * *

Poor Rodney. He is having a really bad day. Who'd have thought it, Semi-Ascended Fish. I wonder if the Ancients took their pets with them :)

Not far to go now. One more trip for our Doctor McKay. Will he survive? Will the fish ascend? Will they take that cute plastic mermaid from the bottom of the tank?

Review and stay tuned to find out :)


	22. 1400 A OneMan Mission

"You know," Sheppard's voice came casually through the radio he must have stolen from some hapless guard. Apparently someone had been sent to drag Rodney's semi-conscious team to the infirmary despite the dangers involved, "this is probably _the_ most insane idea you've ever had. And that's saying something."

Rodney was leaning on the balcony; his tired eyes vaguely watching the fish-people gathering by the gate below. "Well true genius is often mistaken for insanity."

"Which would explain how you're often mistaken for a—"

"Gentlemen," Elizabeth interrupted, the radio rendering her exasperation admirably. "If we can return to the matter at hand?"

"Right," Sheppard paused. "But _Chaya, _McKay?_"_

"Yes, Chaya," he sighed heavily, being sure it transmitted over the channel. "Do you have a better idea?"

"Well I—"

"I have to admit Rodney; I share some of the Colonel's scepticism." Elizabeth cut in again. "What makes you think she'll help us? Especially since you and she never really . . ."

"Oh please, I think we're both adult enough to be professional about this," he considered, "Well I am."

"Adult. Right . . ." came the amused drawl. Honestly, such little faith. How old were they; twelve?

"May I remind you who was pulling the Kirk routine every time—"

"_Gentlemen_," a dangerous note had entered Elizabeth's voice, her tone could slice steel. He pitied those in close proximity to her right now; being stuck in a mess hall with a pissed off Dr. Weir was more than a little hazardous to your health. "Focus please. Rodney, regardless of any past _relationships_ with Chaya, you are proposing to take a group of dangerous aliens to her planet. You could be endangering her people. I doubt she'll appreciate that."

"Oh please. She's more than capable of looking after herself; she took out Wraith ships without any problems didn't she?"

"But you say these… creatures are part ascended. It might be harder for her to fight them; the fact is we don't know what they are capable of. We don't even know they are telling the truth about being left behind. Maybe there was a good reason the Ancients left them here."

"Well I don't see we have much choice do you? Look," he continued before the inevitable moralistic argument began. "These are, or were at least, her people. Think of it like an extradition order. We're sending them back to their own kind; let the Ancients deal with them." Neither Sheppard nor Elizabeth responded to that. Even as he tried to think of another argument, Rodney's eyes caught the cold orbs of Fish-Ford's, and he spoke almost without realising it, "It's all I've got."

The silence continued for another minute before Elizabeth's quiet reply, "and what happens if Chaya can't help them? Will they stay on her planet?"

"Um, no. I mean, I haven't asked. But I can imagine they'd want to return to Atlantis." He swallowed, "We'll have to go on Puddlejumper of course, as the Stargate for Chaya's planet is in space. I don't think the fish-people can pilot a puddlejumper but even so, I recommend waiting for video feed and my IDC before opening the iris. Under no circumstances should you let them back into the city."

"Noted." Rodney took the lack of further argument as permission, he didn't know if he should be relieved or terrified.

Sheppard had no such conflict of course, "Elizabeth you can't seriously be considering this."

"Colonel—"

"These guys have injured or killed almost everyone they've come across. If Chaya can't or won't help them, they won't hesitate to kill McKay." Rodney flinched, subtle, Sheppard, as always. "I vote we wipe them out now, before they can do anything about it."

"As gratified as I am by your faith in my ability to construct a weapon of mass destruction, if not to survive a solo trip off-world; may I remind you that the chances of the weapon on the Daedalus working are about the same as Carson letting you go in time to try the garbage the mess hall tries to pass off as meat loaf tomorrow night."

"If the weapon wasn't likely to work, why did you suggest it in the first place?" Elizabeth was obviously trying to get her head around the idea that something he'd built might not work.

"Because at the time it was our best shot. And to be honest, I was hoping we'd get lucky. But now there's a chance we can end this without any bloodshed, isn't it worth a try?"

Another pause, then Sheppard's voice came through, that resolute _damned stubborn_ voice he always put on when about to act the hero. "I guess it is; but not you McKay," Typical. He swore Sheppard was gloating a little as he finished. "I'll go. Chaya likes me."

"No offence, last time I saw you, you couldn't even stand up. I doubt you'll make it to the 'Jumper bay, even if you could get past Carson," Unless he was running on pure pig-headedness again.

"I noticed you were having a few problems in that department yourself earlier."

"That wasn't enough to prevent you sending me off on a suicide mission." Okay that wasn't fair; it hadn't been Sheppard's idea, but still . . .

"Oh don't even go there McKay—"

"Enough!" _That_ tone again, "John you aren't going. But there's no need for you to go either Rodney. I'm sure someone will volunteer—"

"You don't understand." He interrupted, "you can't send someone else; they'll _only_ go with me."

"Why?"

"As we saw earlier, they have the ability to sense emotions. Send someone like Sheppard, and they'll think it's a trick. They know that the military would be willing to die to get rid of them. I however . . ."

"Have a stronger sense of self-preservation?" Working with the UN had really honed Elizabeth's ability to say 'you're a selfish jerk' without actually saying it.

"Exactly," he agreed. "Fish-Ford made it clear; I have to take them, or they won't go." He looked down into the Gateroom again, the fish-folk were a group of statures, staring up at him with dead eyes; he pulled back from the balcony. "Believe me I'm the last person to try and be a hero, I leave that to the Colonel Skywalker, but I can't see any other way out of this."

He found the nearest wall and leant against it, taking miniscule comfort from the cool wall. He almost missed Elizabeth's reluctant response.

"Alright Rodney. You have a go. Just, come back safely."

"Fully intend to." He waited a second, before saying awkwardly, "Umm, Sheppard, I uh,"

"McKay if you dare—"

"Don't worry; I'll take 'Jumper five. That's not your favourite is it?" Judging by the silence, perhaps it was.

"I value all my 'Jumpers," came the reply, finally. "Just try not to engage any dangerous looking trees without back up? They can be stronger than they look."

"Noted." He bit his lip and forced himself away from wall. "I'd better get going."

"Good luck, Rodney."

Everyone was so sure he needed that today. "Thanks." He turned his radio off, and leant forward over the balcony, simultaneously trying to meet and avoid the staring eyes.

"Let's uh, go?"

* * *

Rodney hadn't really thought about how everyone would fit into one 'Jumper. It proved relatively easy in the end, all but four of the fish-people reverted to their 'original forms; those glowing fish fire-fly things he'd seen in the ocean—was it only hours ago? They all seemed to blend into the remaining 'people' who followed him into the 'jumper and stood behind the pilot's seat as he activated the various systems. They were, in his opinion, standing unnecessarily close. It was like being surrounded by cows. Sure they _looked_ cute and innocent, with their big black eyes and fluffy tail, but as soon as they got fed up they could kick hard enough to— well.

He really, _really_ didn't like cows.

"You know, there's a bench back there," he suggested to Fish-Ford who had remained at his side since they headed to the 'jumper bay. The alien stared implacably back at him.

"Or you could just stand there," he muttered, looked back to the control panels as the 'jumper lowered into the Gateroom. He wasn't surprised to see security lining either side of the Gate; however it did startle him to see the Lieutenant from the Mess-hall this morning, Stevens, amongst them, as well as Suddrick and Bourne; the idiots who'd brought down their 'jumper, (and so, it could be argued, started this whole mess). Why were they here? Surely they couldn't be so low on security that they were forced to get a souped up dinnerlady and two of the most _incompetent_ men ever to target a space gun. (Admittedly out of a very short list).

He accidentally caught Stevens' eye, expecting the usual military acknowledgement of a scientist, namely rolled eyes or a raised eyebrow. So it came as a bit of a surprise when the Lieutenant lifted a hand to his forehead. One by one, the other soldiers followed, each pulling a stiff salute as the gate dialled. Almost as though he was a hero like Sheppard, who actually deserved this.

He wasn't a hero. He never would be. Not like the people who died or nearly died, who were still willing to die, just for him. Sheppard, The king of idiots who'd actually wanted to do this instead of him, despite the fact he must be high as a kite on painkillers right now. He rubbed his eyes; obviously he was developing an allergy to the 'jumpers now which was just _typical_.

To be sure they didn't mistake a certified medical condition for corny-soap-opera emotion, he raised his good(ish) arm in his own version of a salute; and glared at them, daring the brave idiots to laugh. But they just stood there, arms stiff to their foreheads, grim eyes targeting the figures behind him. His guard—or maybe his friends; were still standing there as he flew the 'Jumper through the gate.

And he tried not to wonder if they were there for security, or as his honour guard.

* * *

The journey went surprisingly well, despite Rodney's increasing discomfort. He tried to think of a way to start a conversation but 'nice weather we're having' didn't really seem to cut it in Space. He was relieved when they finally set down on Proculus and he could get out of the stifling atmosphere. He ushered—well encouraged, the fish-people out of the 'jumper and cloaked it; being sure to mark the spot with a few well-placed branches. (He'd sort of 'scraped' a few trees during the landing, so there was no shortage of these). As he stood up to leave, something in his chest clenched and tore, forcing Rodney into a brief fight with gravity, which he unfortunately lost. Flat on his back, trying to force rebellious lungs to accept the air he was so desperately trying to give them; he was aware of Fish-Ford and the others watching him. Even through his spotted vision, he could see the same apathy on their features that he'd read throughout the entire journey. He couldn't breathe, and it didn't bother them. That was more frightening than the Wraith's hunger, or Koyla's raw hate.

It took a few minutes until the iron in his chest melted, letting him breathe again. Even then, the molten liquid which surrounded his lungs burnt with every inhalation.

"We must continue." Fish-Ford demanded, abruptly grabbing his (bad) arm and forcing him upright, "which way?"

"In a second," Rodney hissed, ill-used muscles protesting at the sudden movement. His head was spinning again and he felt more inclined to collapse than go walking. That and he wasn't quite sure of the way. It had been awhile.

"A second has passed. We will go now." Fish-Ford insisted, "Which way?" The other fish-people moved closer, Rodney had had more than enough.

"Look," he began, trying to inject anger into his fading voice. "I have told you I will take you there, but if you hadn't noticed, I'm not feeling too well at the moment. So if you would be good little fishies and wait a minute, perhaps we'll get their without me, your _guide_ passing out."

"Your weakness is of no consequence. We will go now."

"Do you _want_ me to collapse? Because I've been on the brink, and slightly past it, all day! I've been electrocuted, burnt, gassed, infected, and beaten up more times than should be humanly possible, let alone realistic! By any law of probability I should have cut a break by now. But no, instead I'm on an alien planet with a group of _fish_ who claim to be Ancients, and instead of resting, I'm taking them to see a _real_ Ancient, who by the way, doesn't even like me. And now I'm being forced to—"

"Doctor McKay," the quiet voice cut through what was working up to be a great speech like a bell chime. Barely ten metres from them stood Chaya, looking as lovely as ever in a white dress that belied her truly terrible attitude.

"Chaya! Oh thank God you're here. We need your help, see—"

"I have made it clear I cannot help your people. I am permitted only to protect my own," came the predictable reply, why was everyone interrupting him today? Didn't they realise it was in _their_ best interest to listen? After all how smart was he? And how smart were they? Exactly.

"See that's the point I was going to make. These people _are_ your own," he began, trailing off as the Ancient moved swiftly forward, her irritatingly spacey gaze had shifted to Fish-Ford who stood frozen, like a startled squirrel (he hated those too). Chaya glided over the landscape until only inches away from Fish-Ford, whose 'friends' gathered around. No one spoke, but there was some kind of communication going on that Rodney couldn't hear, and he hated being left out of these important conversations.

"So, yes, you guys apparently left them behind way back when, and they'd really appreciate—_we'd _really appreciate it if you—"

"Left behind?" Chaya asked, interrupting _again_, addressing Fish-Ford. "Is that what you think?"

"Is it not true? We waited."

"But we could not find you. There was confusion at first. When we could see again you were—"

"We were lost!" and finally there was anger on Fish-Ford's stolen face, "you were together, and we had nothing but shades of memory. You should have looked longer, you should have found us." The raw _hurt_ in Fish-Ford's voice was unsettling, like a child's plea, _why did you leave me?_ Rodney flinched away only to see Chaya's serene smile finally break. Her forehead creased like the troubled ocean, and he couldn't help but feel a little anger towards her. Why couldn't the Ancients ever clean up after themselves?

"We never stopped looking," Chaya finally replied, a gentle hand reaching as though to touch the distraught creature, yet there was hesitation. "But we could only see consciousness, and you had so little of that. We were as broken without you as you were without us. But I can heal you, if you can forgive."

"Forgive?" The group seemed truly confused, Fish-Ford, their spokesperson continued, "Why? Simply help us reach ascension and all will be right."

"You cannot ascend whilst you hold hatred for us, or for any living creature. Your hate will bind you here." Chaya explained. Rodney cringed, why couldn't these things ever be simple? He tried not to flinch again as the Ancient cast a look on him, before turning her gaze back to the fish-folk. "You hurt his people, you blamed them, I understand why, but it was wrong. You must accept that wrong and forgive yourselves for it before you can join us."

"But how?" the alien asked softly, and for a second Rodney almost thought it was Ford. The confusion and guilt that contorted the alien's 'face' bore a remarkable resemblance to Ford at their last fateful meeting; at least while the Lieutenant wasn't shooting. "We are fractured, thinking is a struggle. To do as you ask would take more than we can bear. We would tear ourselves apart."

The troubled waves on her forehead eased, and Chaya's smile was like a ray of light through the clouds. Her arm rose again and took Fish-Ford's hand; he did not resist. "I will help you. Those I care for here are good people. With them you can heal until you are ready to join us. Will you stay with us, with me?"

All the fish-folk were staring at Chaya with a disconcerting degree of admiration. Still, she was probably the most interesting thing they'd seen in ten thousand years, not to mention pretty hot in the bargain. Sheppard had looked like that whenever he and the Ancient were in the same room, total infatuation. Apparently the only one with any self-control, Fish-Ford broke from the group hypnosis session to mutter "Atlantis . . ."

"It does not matter. It's no longer our home. Leave these people in peace," the woman replied gently. "Come with me, and in time you'll take your rightful place with us. Is that not what you've wished for?"

The would-be Ancient nodded, and whatever mojo Chaya was pulling must have worked because the group turned as one to follow her as she stepped away. But predictably, she couldn't leave without asking the question.

"How is Major Sheppard?"

"He's ah, fine. Sort of. He's a Lieutenant Colonel now actually."

If that confused Chaya she didn't show it, obviously feeling it was important to demonstrate her unflappable coolness before her new minions, "Why did he not return himself?"

"He got a little beaten up earlier, by your new friends actually. The colonel's fine though, he said 'Hi'."

Rodney had to give her credit, she didn't even blink. "Tell him I send my greetings," what was he, a messenger service? "Thank you for bringing them here Dr. McKay, but you had best return to Atlantis. I believe you are in need of the kind Dr. Beckett's assistance."

"You worked that out hmm?" Rodney muttered. Kind; she'd never been around Carson when he was angry. The Scot's coherence was inversely proportionate to the level of his fury. Sort of like Radek actually. "Fine, have fun learning to ascend. And please, don't call, don't write, don't contact us at all in fact." He turned, and deliberately ignoring the group, began to stumble back to the 'jumper.

"Hey McKay!" He inwardly counted to ten before looking back to see Fish-Ford.

"What? What now? I did what you asked, I brought you here, you're going to be fine. Now I'd really like to go home and go to bed for a blissful hour or two before the next catastrophe."

A smile crinkled the would-be Ancient's features, a real human smile, not the lewd imitation of earlier. The anguish and anger were gone, and just for a moment, Rodney believed this was Ford. He knew their friend was safe and whatever happened to the rest of them, Ford was going to be okay. For that one brief minute, the wound stopped hurting, and there was peace.

Then with the force of a tidal wave the world surged back and Ford was swept away, gone again. He gaped at the alien, "what the hell was that!"

"A gift. You helped us, and now we'll be okay. I thought you should know what that feels like." Fish-Ford raised a hand to wave briefly, a smile still playing across his features, "So long McKay."

He tried to make himself believe again, this was Ford, and this was their chance to say goodbye. The one that with all the shooting and the running, they'd never managed. "Good luck Lieutenant."

He couldn't believe; it didn't matter. He didn't watch them walk away.

* * *

Piloting the 'jumper back to the Stargate was difficult. The controls responded sluggishly, despite his promise to Sheppard, he took down several threatening looking trees on his way up. Thankfully there wasn't much to bump into once he got into space. It took a few tries to dial the gate up, the complete exhaustion he'd been holding off all day flowing back, clogging up his mind, his lungs, his muscles. The fever had returned and heat formed an unbearable aura around him. He was relieved when the gate took over the controls.

Rodney shut his eyes as the ship went through the gate; the momentary iciness did nothing to cool the fever. He felt the familiar shifts as the 'jumper ascended into the bay, and the low thump as it landed.

The hatch lowered without an effort on his part, Carson and Elizabeth were there, hurrying up the ramp, faces blurry; voices muted. With one final effort Rodney forced himself to his feet.

And with more than a little relief, great satisfaction, and an unspoken, "it's about time," he collapsed unceremoniously to the floor.

* * *

How big an apology do I owe you guys? I mean seriously. I've had so many reviews asking, begging, pleading, threatening, _ordering_ me to update. I've been very scared, haven't left my house for weeks. All I can say is that it was honestly not intended to happen. I've had many computer problems recently. Already working on the final chapter and hope to get it up in the next 72 hours. Again I'm so, so, so sorry! Thank you for all your wonderful reviews, I love you all. Please oblige a poor author by leaving another one on this chapter, even if it's only to wallop her over the head for leaving it too long.

The chapter is unbetaed, all mistakes are mine. I'm very sorry :)


	23. Some time after

Warm mist was floating through his bloodstream; replacing the red acid of before. He was floating somewhere in a deep, comfortable fog. It was, without a doubt, Heaven.

"–should have known better."

What?

"I mean sure she was hot, but with a temper like that–"

Noise. Words. A voice. Someone was talking. Couldn't they see he was busy?

"–never did wash the stains out. I know, I know, it serves me right. But if you'd seen her McKay–"

McKay. That was his name; before he died anyway. So who was the voice talking to?

"So are you waking up yet? Because Beckett's going to come back soon and I know how you're loving this instalment of 'John Sheppard, the early years'. Hey maybe if you were awake, he'd let me hang out a while longer?"

Like that was an incentive. Wake up? Had the idiot never heard of 'Rest in Peace'?

But other sounds were beginning to penetrate the soft cloud that surrounded him. An irritating, rhythmic _beep beep beep_. With every repetition, a bit of the protective haze leaked away. Instead of floating, gravity seemed to be taking revenge and pressing in on his skull. Bright flames sprang to life in his head, his ribs, his– everywhere in fact. The _beep beep beep _seemed to get louder, _wake up wake up wake up_ it insisted.

Rodney McKay opened his eyes.

It was surprisingly lacking in drama. No one yelled "He's awake!" or perhaps more appropriately. "It's alive!". There was no triumphant soundtrack. The _beep beep_ _beep_ continued regardless. The only response to his incredible return-from-the-dead was the raised eyebrows of the man sitting in a wheelchair next to him.

"Hey."

Rodney just stared. John Sheppard had never looked worse (except for a rather unpleasant incident involving blue scales and hissing, but they weren't allowed to mention that anymore.) The colonel's right arm was in one of Carson's 'foolproof' casts, (a description the MD would have cause to revoke next week, after an incident involving runaway mice and an ocean.) Sheppard was sitting in that awkward half-leaning 'broom strapped to back' position which implied taped ribs, and his hair was auditioning as a wig for electrocuted lions.

And if it wasn't for a certain body-snatching incident which had scarred Rodney for life, he would have kissed the man.

Instead he rasped, "You look like hell." This prompted a (slightly relieved) grin from Sheppard.

"You're no prize chicken yourself McKay."

From what Rodney could see of his environment, which was admittedly, mostly the ceiling. He was in one of the isolation rooms just off the infirmary. Of course that could just be because Carson didn't want him yelling at the semi-evolved lizards he hired as staff. "What–" his voice broke into a cough which his ribs definitely didn't like.

There was a brief blur of action, and what looked like a kids 'sippy' cup appeared in front of him. "Water?"

The elaborate pantomime that followed was a memory that Rodney hoped to repress as quickly as possible. Needless to say by the time Sheppard replaced the cup on the nightstand, Rodney had discovered exactly where most of the tubes from the IV stand were attached to. Carson was a dead man. Provided his patient didn't die first.

The process had sparked something in his ribcage, causing a sudden flare across his chest. He winced, but before Sheppard could make some remark that really wouldn't work in their kind of relationship, Rodney croaked, "The others?"

"Oh, they're fine; well, mending at least. Teyla had a fractured ankle and a pretty impressive black eye. She's already up and about. Ronon's officially under house arrest in the infirmary until Beckett's satisfied his brain is in one piece. Cadman was in surgery but she's okay. She wanted to come and see you but Beckett isn't sure it'll be beneficial to his health, let alone hers."

He could have laughed, but it wasn't really his style. "Zelenka?"

"Oh he's fine. Mild concussion, he's already in the labs hassling Kavanaugh."

Well someone had to. He tried to sit up but quickly abandoned the idea. In a bizarre reversal of his usual behaviour, he asked for mental pain to cover the physical. "How many?"

At some point in his life, no one would have understood that question. "Five. Lenson, Finnigan, Adams, Brooks and Charles." His friend reeled off the names with the stony eyes of one determined not to 'dwell'. Another five to add to the growing list in his head. _People I have to make up for_. "When's the–"

"Yesterday," he must have frowned because Sheppard added, "Carson had to put you on a ventilator, under sedation. It's been five days Rodney."

Oh. That was…disturbing. "Have you heard anything–from Proculus?"

"Nope. But I figure no news is good news in this situation."

They were safe then. But it didn't seem like enough. "I got them home."

"We figured that," Sheppard leaned a little further back in his chair. "Of course the fact you nearly killed yourself doing it hasn't put you in Beckett's good books."

"Really?"

"I hear he's asking for a pay rise."

"Huh. You'd think he'd be–" he took a breath and tried again, "–be glad to have something . . . something to do." The mist was creeping back again; talking really didn't seem worth the effort.

"Yeah, we're underappreciated," a shuffle of wheels, "speaking of the Doc, I'd better go fetch him. If I was you, I'd try to sleep again. I think he likes you better unconscious"

So very entertaining. "Jealous. Am genius."

"Sure. Night McKay." A pause, "and thanks, you did great out there."

Before he had time to analyse that comment and figure out just how inappropriate it was for Sheppard to say anything remotely meaningful, the shuffling moved off; leaving him with the _beep beep beep_ again. But this time, it just wasn't irritating enough; he drifted off.

* * *

Next time he woke up, the warm haze of drugs was somewhat lessened. He was uncomfortably aware of just how much he _hurt_. Trying not to take stock of exactly how much damage was done, he glanced around. Someone was at the other end of the room; talking to a nurse in that incomprehensible blur of Scottish accent and medical mumbo jumbo that only Carson Beckett used.

Oh no.

He shut his eyes and tried to relax. If Carson didn't know he was awake, maybe he'd be spared, just one more time. Unfortunately, stiff muscles protested to even the slightest movement, and a spasm in his shoulder prompted an involuntary "Ow!"

"Rodney?" the discussion stopped instantly, he heard Beckett dismissing the nurse and approaching his bed, "How're you feeling?"

There seemed to be little point in faking it any longer. He opened his eyes, at least this way he'd see it coming. Carson's face was carefully neutral, Rodney wasn't fooled.

"Umm, fine." He was trying to avoid thinking about that particular issue. "And umm, the others?"

"Oh aye, they're improving," the doctor picked up a chart from the bedside table and began jotting something down. Avoiding eye contact, how childish. "I've released everyone save Colonel Sheppard, Lieutenant Cadman and yourself."

"Oh, that's… good." He tried, unsuccessfully to catch Carson's eye, but the doctor was resolutely staring at the clipboard. "When do I get out of here?"

"You can move back to the main infirmary today. Ye picked up a nasty bug that I didn't want passing on, especially when the Colonel and Lieutenant have–"

"Carson would you call your girlfriend by her first name! Honestly I don't understand why–"

"Rodney," the tone was a warning, but he'd long since become immune to those.

"And why don't you just get it over with, hmm? I know you're longing to lecture me for not running down here first thing this–_that_ morning. But not all of us have time to–"

"You bloody well died you foolish little bugger!"

* * *

Time seemed to freeze temporarily. Died? He hadn't–he couldn't have…

"What?"

"Three times your heart stopped. Three times I had tae bring you back from the bloody brink! Did ye not think that a couple of hours after being poisoned, drowned and electrocuted isnae a good time for an away mission?"

"I–I had to– "

"It was bloody foolish lad!"

Carson's dagger eyes were matched only by Rodney's own. But the expression as hard to maintain. A weird dizzy feeling crawled from the back of his skull to wind tight around his forehead. His heartbeat pounded _bang bang bang_ into his chest wall, and he couldn't– couldn't breathe . . .

"Rodney?" he had no air to reply, "Rodney? Oh dinnae ye even think about–"

Blood was rushing like a torrent through his brain. He couldn't hear over the rush and pound of his heartbeat. His ribs seemed to contract and crush his lungs, even as strong arms pulled up and leaned him forward.

"Easy, easy now. Marie? If you can get–"

Somewhere deep in the back of his mind he was aware of a moving shadow in the corner of his vision. But all too soon it was lost as he struggled against the fire in his chest.

"Just breathe, take it easy, it'll be over in a minute."

A mask was pressed to his face, and he pleaded with the words to be true. The razor edge of flame seemed to dull a little, but whether it was easing or just killing him he couldn't say. Black smoke filled his eyes, and he let go.

* * *

Regaining consciousness, he noted a distinct feeling of being drugged. Not the blissful delirium of morphine, but the heavy dryness of sedation; great. Opening his eyes seemed like a long and unpleasant procedure, but when he finally accomplished it, he was rewarded with the sight of Carson slumped in a chair next to him.

"How're ye feeling?" the Doctor asked quietly. He didn't seem mad which was… good. Hadn't he been angry? Carson had been yelling and then–Rodney frowned, "What happened?"

"You were hyperventilating. You've three cracked ribs and just came through a bad case of pneumonia. Your lungs got a wee bit stressed, that's all."

Now he remembered, "You said . . . did I really–"; it was hard enough to think, he couldn't bring himself to say it.

"Aye. The human body can only take so much strain, and you put yourself through more than most. Your pulse was irregular, lungs were packing up. If it hadn't been for a ventilator you'd not have survived the last few days."

"Oh." That was unsettling. "But I'll be okay now, right?"

"I should think so." Carson never tried to worry him in a serious situation. Only when it was something he found oh-so-comic. Rodney shifted, trying to sit up again, only to be held back by the MD; with ridiculous ease he might add. Carson must have been working out.

"I wouldn't try that just yet. Aside from the ribs you're got severe bruising to the lower torso," being beaten up by fish-people, "third degree burns on your left hand," that lovely experiment with the puddlejumper, "minor muscular damage," that wonderful device he intended to destroy as soon as possible, only minor damage? "concussion," being thrown against the wall by said fish-people, "soft tissue damage to your throat," that'd be Ronon _and_ the fish-people, "and between chlorine gas, a nasty case of secondary drowning, and the Pegasus version of pneumonia you've done more than a wee bit of damage to your lungs."

Rodney McKay was actually surprised. "I avoided hypoglycaemia?"

And finally Carson Beckett smiled.

* * *

A few hours later Rodney got a ride into the main infirmary. For once, Carson had judged him worthy of a stretcher, though the MD warned he'd have to start walking a bit tomorrow, "or I'll find some way of encouragin' ya." He was more than a little embarrassed that the whole senior staff seemed to be assembled to watch. Cadman and Sheppard were still patients, but Elizabeth, Teyla and Ronon were apparently just there for the hell of it. Zelenka, he knew, only turned up because he was hiding from Kavanaugh. (Something to do with stealing the frames from the idiot's glasses; according to Carson. Rodney refused to have anything to do with it, he was sick after all.)

"Well look who's here," Elizabeth smiled as he was wheeled in. "How are you feeling?"

"Um, fine." He replied, trying to ignore Carson's fussing with the IV stand. "Yourself? Yourselves–I mean."

"Great once the Doc lets us out of here," Sheppard answered, casting puppy-dog eyes at Carson who steadfastly ignored him.

"We are quite well," Teyla assured him, a bright smile lighting her bruised features. "And Doctor Weir has kindly postponed our mission to PX4 873 until you are well again."

"What, really?"

"Colonel Sheppard said you had found something of importance there." Elizabeth clarified. "And Doctor Zelenka tells me that your expertise will be irreplaceable on the mission."

"He did?" Rodney looked over to Radek who seemed determined to avoid eye contact. "Of course he did. So when are we going?"

"Not for a few weeks yet." Carson assured him even as the MD moved to the head of Rodney's gurney. "Ronon?"

"What? No way! I can move forty inches by myself." He protested immediately, but pointlessly as it turned out. Ronon, loyal team member that he was, completely ignored him and moved to the foot of the gurney.

"On three," Carson began, "one, two, three."

The entire process was horribly painful, and Sheppard of course, had to make it worse.

"Seriously Doc, you have to stop letting McKay wear hospital gowns," the Colonel remarked most unhelpfully. "Or at least get whoever's at the foot of the thing a blindfold.

Amongst a chorus of "Sheppard!" and "Colonel!" Rodney managed to throw a pillow at his erstwhile friend. Carson retrieved it, clucking like the mother hen he was, and Rodney wondered who he'd be able to get to sneak in his laptop.

Life was good.

* * *

And we're done! I hope you all enjoyed it. I know I...well, I enjoyed some of it :P This story has left me with many scars, and I think Ronon just left with a big mental one. Thank you to all of you lovely, lovely people wholeft reviews. Huge virtual hugs to you all! For more McKay whump, leave me a review and any plot bunnies you have, and I'll see what I can do ;)

Thanks!


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